misAdventure
by Anna P.T
Summary: For dozens of decades, the Grey Wardens have been known for their heroic courage, bravery, and selfless sacrifice. He is known for his innuendo. Slight AU. M!Cousland/Alistair. 2/19/11:Undergoing editing.
1. Distrust

"_In war, victory  
__In peace, vigilance  
__In death, sacrifice"  
__-Grey Warden motto_

"Orzammar?"

He raised a thick brown eyebrow at his ally. "What? Do you have some sort of personal vendetta against dwarves?" he questioned.

Alistair was quick to take back his words. "No, no, no, not at all, I just don't think they're the best choice at the moment," he answered hastily. The brunet's expression remained unchanging. "I'm just saying, we have other options to consider before running off to Orzammar. There's the Circle of Magi, the Dalish, Arl Eamon—even _if_ he is a bit iffy at the moment—and…" Still not convinced. "What?"

"…So you _do_ have a personal vendetta against—"

"Oh shut up."

Jack Cousland laughed at the scowl growing on Alistair's face. "Well, by all means, Alistair, pick a place! Morrigan said it before, right? You're the senior Warden here. You should be calling the shots, not me," he reminded him before taking a small swig from his flask.

Alistair rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the campfire. "We're not having this conversation again, Jack. I don't want to be the leader here, end of discussion," he replied curtly.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Deciding to change his train of thought, he began scanning the campsite, arms laid across one of the logs surrounding the campfire as he surveyed his companions. Alistair's eyebrows were furrowed slightly, either upset by the cold of night or upset by Cousland's teasing. He seemed to be struggling to keep warm, inching so close to the fire, Cousland could've sworn he was trying to hug it. Behind him, a stoic Sten shifted cautiously from one foot to another. Cousland bit back a snort as he continued to watch the qunari's impatience. It almost resembled a dance, from the way he returned to each foot in a made-up rhythm.

"What do you _mean _this costs forty-five silver?"

Cousland's ears twitched at the thunderous voice he recognized as Morrigan's. She stood near Bodahn's wagon, silver chain gripped tightly in her right fist as she wagged it in front of the dwarf's face. The apostate shouted over whatever he tried to say, drawing out her argument in a long detailed complaint that Bodahn seemed to have trouble keeping up with. Cousland tried looking past Sten's armor to see how Sandal was holding up, but the boy looked more confused than upset by the noise. His face bore an absent smile as he glanced between the two, oblivious to what was going on.

"I told you I'd give you a special discount, and I did! If you don't like it, you can look elsewhere!" Bodahn spoke up, feigning sternness. He sounded hesitant and a little afraid, however, so the façade didn't work so well.

Morrigan scoffed. "Don't spew such lies to me, you money-grubbing dwarf! I know what you are trying to do; I am no fool. Any merchant with a brain would claim that they are offering a discount, only to increase the price by an oversized amount. I, however, _refuse _to play this game. I will pay nothing more than ten silver for this trinket, and you will be grateful that you aren't paying me with your life," she hissed, hands faintly surrounded by a purple glow Cousland recognized as magic.

Bodahn's eyes grew wide as he stared at the impending doom her hands resembled. "Ten silver? That's almost ten times less than the amount I b-!" A threatening fist brought before his face cut him off. He made a low guttural noise in the bottom of his throat, so frozen in his terror that he couldn't even shrink back in fear. "…How does twenty silver sound?"

Upon hearing Cousland's amused chuckle, Alistair turned around. "You aren't going to do anything?" he asked.

Cousland shrugged. "Not my problem. Plus, it's more fun to watch, don't you think?" he mused. "You have to admit, he has guts. If I were him, I'd just give it to her for free."

Alistair laughed shortly before frowning a little. "…Oh, why did I laugh?"

He responded with a grin. "Because I'm hilarious," he said simply before taking another tiny sip from his flask.

"Mm? What's all the noise?"

Cousland's eyes lit up at the sweet sound of Leliana's voice. He quickly straightened and sat up in his spot, smiling pleasantly at her. "How was your sleep? Did you have any more…interesting dreams?" he inquired.

"If by 'interesting dreams'," Leliana yawned, still drowsy from her nap, "you mean a vision from the Maker, then no."

"Well actually, by 'interesting dreams' I meant dreams about me, but that works, too," Cousland replied with a wink.

Leliana smiled politely in return. "None of those either, sorry… I see Morrigan is stirring up trouble again," she hastily changed the subject.

Cousland returned his attention to the quarrel at hand, watching Morrigan continue her rant. "Yes, well, you know her. The woman can't go a day without screaming her head off at someone," he said with a chuckle.

"Perhaps someone should go calm her down. She looks awfully mad," Leliana suggested, staring at the mage's hands, which were now fully swelling with magic.

"I say let her get mad. I haven't seen a show this entertaining since the time I convinced Mother I was pregnant," he laughed. The redhead gaped at him for a moment, mouth dropped open in disgust, before he speedily added, "but, of course, this is different. Morrigan could really hurt someone, after all."

"Oh, but Jack, I thought you said it wasn't your problem. You wouldn't want to tire yourself over something that doesn't concern you, now would you?" Alistair mocked, fashioning Cousland's previous grin.

Cousland flashed a nervous smile at Leliana before punching Alistair in the arm and heading towards the fray. His grin automatically returned upon arriving at the scene. "You guys mind taking the volume down a bit? You woke poor Leliana, after all," he cut in smoothly, looking between the two as he spoke.

Bodahn's eyes reminded him of a frightened Halla, shrunken and shaking with fright. He looked to Cousland desperately, his face screaming a silent 'help me.' Already, it seemed Morrigan had taken her wrath out on the ground around him, barely missing Sandal and scorching the roof of his wagon. Morrigan's features were curled in a snarl, something dark with a twist of impatience clouding her eyes. She wasn't angry, not at all, but she was clearly irritated and grumpier than usual. It would hardly be too difficult to calm her. At least, it wouldn't be as difficult as it could have been…

"This _fool_ of a dwarf refuses to lower his price to the proper standard. Either you side with him or you side with me," Morrigan explained, her hand's glow increasing as she emphasized the word 'fool'.

"Price? What for?" he questioned innocently. He then looked at her fist—her clenched, shaking, dangerously glowing fist—and noticed the silver chain dangling off it. Swiftly, he unfolded her hand and took the object from her. "This? Oh, I could pay for this. How much?"

The dwarf's voice was raspy as he answered, "F-forty-five silver, ser."

Cousland casually searched through his backpack for the proper amount before handing it off to the shorter man, adding in a polite word of thanks as he did so. "There we go," he said firmly, proud of his resolution. Nothing else could possibly go wrong. "Anything else you wanted, Morrigan?"

Except that. She smiled wickedly, all irritation forgotten. "A few things, actually…" she replied. A nervous, audible gulp sounded from Cousland's throat. Smooth.

Alistair watched the brunet noble suck up to Morrigan from afar. "Of all the Grey Wardens that could've survived, Jack Cousland had to be one of them…" he chuckled, half bitterly, half in amusement.

"Do you dislike Ser Cousland?" Leliana inquired.

He shrugged, leaning over to steal the flask Cousland had left unguarded. "It's not that, it's just…he's not exactly the heroic type, you know?" he replied.

She tilted her head at him. "True, he may not be very saintly, but he doesn't seem to be very criminal, either," she defended as she subconsciously started petting the nearby mabari hound, who had quietly crept up to the campfire in search of attention.

Despite the amount of times Cousland had taken a swig, much alcohol remained in the flask. Alistair closely analyzed the miracle as he responded, "I know, but…when I imagined being a Grey Warden, I thought I'd be fighting side by side with the bravest of the brave…not some immature spoiled drunkard."

"If he is really what you say he is, why do you travel with him?" Leliana questioned as she scratched the mabari behind his ears. The dog panted in response, his tail wagging.

Alistair opened the flask cautiously, peering into it afterwards. "I don't exactly have a choice in the matter. It's my duty as a Grey Warden to protect us from the Blight, and that's exactly what I intend to do, even if I have to deal with _him_ to do that," he answered before taking a long mouthful. He scrunched his face at the overwhelming taste of strong alcohol burning his throat, nearly spilling the contents of the flask as he did so. "Bloody _hell_, what did he fill this with? Shots?"

"No, it's just beer. I got tired of the taste after a while, so I added in a tad more alcohol," Cousland corrected, snatching the flask from a recovering Alistair.

"A tad? Just how much was that?" he questioned.

Cousland paused for a moment, mulling it over in his head, before taking a quick drink. "Can't say I remember, sorry," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "Anyway, now that Morrigan is done bleeding me dry… We still haven't decided where we're going in the morning, have we?"

Leliana's eyes were on the ever-so-pleased mabari as she spoke. "Do we really need to decide where to go first? Can't we just go to all four at once?" she mused.

"Oh, of course! I'll just grab the Handy-Dandy Alistair maker, and we'll be on our way!" Alistair exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air unsteadily.

"Oh dear. I think Alistair's had too much," Cousland clucked. "No more flask alcohol for you!"

Alistair glared at the brunet. "Like I'd want any more of _that _vile concoction shoved down my throat," he snapped, swiping at him. Cousland laughed and swatted right back.

She narrowed her eyes at the two and their semi-drunken play-fight, frowning. "Well, we don't necessarily _need_ a Grey Warden to accompany us. Just send Morrigan, Sten, and I with the treaties, and we'll take care of the rest," she continued, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

"She makes a good point. Any objections, my sarcastic friend?" Cousland inquired.

Said friend was silent for a moment, face unreadable as he stared into the fire blaring before him. "Jack, could we talk in private for a moment?" he requested finally. He stood, solemn and serious, and held out a hand for Cousland to take.

His eyebrows rose comically. "Uh-oh," he said, laughing briefly before being dragged to the side.

Both men continued into the forest, where the glow of the campfire barely reached the depths of the shadows. Stumbling over twigs and bushes, Cousland wondered distantly if Alistair was actually planning on hurting him there in the dark. Neither knew each other very well at that point, and despite the fact that they had no one else to turn to, they were strangers. Also, he wasn't sure how much alcohol Alistair had in his system at the time...

"What are you doing?" Alistair questioned suddenly.

Cousland flashed a sheepish smile, realizing that he had been slowly backing away. "Nothing, nothing. What did you want to talk about?" he inquired.

Alistair looked towards the camp once more, checking to see that no one was listening in. Leliana seemed to be having a deep conversation with Cousland's dog, petting him in repeated strokes as she spoke with him. Morrigan was off to the side, as always, watching her own campfire with an empty gaze. Sten continued to wait impatiently, though he looked ready to join Leliana in conversation with the dog, his eyes darting towards the two every now and then. Each of them looked equally absorbed in their own worlds. They would be safe, for the time being.

"We can't trust them with any of the treaties. Ever," Alistair started, lowering his voice halfway through his statement.

The brunet didn't answer for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "And…why not?" he asked slowly.

He avoided the odd look his companion was giving him. "Just look at them. Leliana's a whacko, Morrigan's a _bitch_, and Sten… Sten just creeps me out," he admitted. Upon hearing the faint sound of Cousland snickering, he deadpanned. "What?"

"You say 'whacko' weird…" Cousland sniggered.

Alistair didn't even bother to roll his eyes. "Ignoring that," he said. "Think about it for a second, Jack. These documents are Grey Warden property—we can't just go handing them out to whomever we please. If we were to lose any one of these treaties, we would be losing valuable forces!"

Cousland crossed his arms, sobering. "I understand what you're getting at, but Leliana poses a good point. If we were to split up the work evenly, we would be able to get prepared for the Blight more quickly. Besides, we took these people along for a reason: to use them. What better use than our own personal messengers?" he countered.

"Even if we could trust these strangers, who's going to believe them without real Grey Wardens traveling with them? Not only that, but with Loghain hunting us down, it's much too risky to split up so soon after leaving Ostagar. One of them could get captured—one of _us_ could get captured—and then who would negotiate the treaties?" Alistair said, the volume of his voice escalating as he went on. The noble remained silent, unsure of how to object. "I just don't think it's such a good idea to send others to do what we should be doing ourselves. You don't have to listen to me, but I'm just putting it out there."

Finally, after another short silence, Cousland smiled. "I'll be sure to think on it, don't worry. I'm not as thickheaded as you think," he assured him.

The blond snorted. "I'm sure."

Disregarding the clear insult, Cousland continued back towards the campsite. "Let's go. It's bloody freezing over here," he announced, warily stepping over branches and roots hidden in the shadows.

"Right behind you," Alistair agreed with a loud shiver. His foot had barely grazed over a twig when a sudden snap resounded from afar, quiet yet very distinct. He withdrew his step and squinted at the darkness behind him, scanning the shade for any sign of life. Although no other movements or sounds indicated someone there, there was a feeling in his gut—an instinct, almost—that warned him otherwise.

"Al? Everything alright over there?" Cousland inquired from the camp, kicking away a nearby stick as he did so.

Alistair immediately turned to shout at his fellow Warden, "For the last time, jackass, my name is _Alistair_."

Cousland cracked a new grin. "You call me Jack, so I get to call you Al."

"And what else would I call you? Jackary?"

A wider grin was all Cousland offered as a response. He then turned to Leliana and proceeded to resume his nightly flirting whilst she resumed her nightly ignoring his attempts. By the time Alistair turned back to the blackness looming behind him, the presence had receded. Albeit still suspicious, the Warden wasn't about to waste his time wrestling around in the dark for something that may or may not have even been there. Carefully manipulating his steps over miscellaneous branches, Alistair hurried back to the campfire, oblivious to a pair of eyes watching him from afar.


	2. Irresponsibility

_"For she has said to us, 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.'"_

_-from _The Sermons of Justinia I.

Dawn was always different, no matter where he was or whom he was with. He hadn't noticed it when he was growing up at home, much too excited and animated to be bothered with the transitions of the sky, but…it was never consistent. The last dawn he remembered at Castle Cousland was during a cold winter morning, when the air was as icy as the landscape appeared. A cold pale blue had colored the sky that early morning, while darker shades of blue transitioning into a light purple painted the clouds. They had appeared like giant inkblots, seemingly surreal and ashy as they hung in the sky. Stray clouds that happened to be positioned in front of the rising sun had been glowing a warm yellow color, giving the illusion of a warmer day.

The dawn Cousland witnessed at camp that morning was much redder. A transition from dark red-orange to a light golden tint spread across the heavens. Everything the sky looked down upon seemed to be encompassed with the same tint filling itself. Red haze settled over the mountains in the distance, and a faint orange reflection glistened in his drinking water. Oddities of the dawn sky aside, however, he had to focus on the task at hand. After cautiously checking over the contents of the letter in his hands, Cousland nodded firmly at his handiwork and inserted the document in the envelope, afterwards sliding said envelope beneath his faithful hound. The mabari continued to sleep soundly, barely disturbed by the feeling of his master slipping something beneath him.

Satisfied with his work, Cousland proceeded to creep off towards one of the tents. He followed the sound of obnoxiously loud snoring to a relatively larger tent that he recognized as Alistair's. Inside, the man was in a deep sleep, mouth fallen wide open and emitting deafening snores and snorts. Cousland was careful to step over whatever miscellaneous items Alistair had lying around, nearly stumbling over one of his statuettes in the process. After finally collecting himself and regaining his balance, Cousland leaned over.

"Alistair, wake u—"

"_Darkspawn_!"

Cousland fell on his ass, landing on something sharp and solid. "Ow! Dammit, Al!" he hissed lowly, struggling to keep his voice down as he recovered a broken statuette from under his butt.

Alistair was crestfallen. "Oh, look what you did to my little dragon! Andraste's blood—do you know how much it took me to pay for that?" he complained.

"Keep it down; the others are still asleep," Cousland whispered, gesturing to lower the volume with his right hand.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you waking me up earlier today?" he asked slowly.

"I was thinking about what you said last night, and you're right."

"What I said last night?" A pause. "Wait, I'm right?"

"Would you let me finish?" Cousland snapped. Alistair waited. "…Yes, you're right. We shouldn't be sending such lovely ladies like Leliana to do our bidding; it just isn't right. So, I decided that we should leave camp early today, without the rest of the group. This way, we'll be saved the trouble of having to explain everything to them in person. It won't take long, anyway. We're only about half an hour's walk away from our destination, after all."

Alistair didn't bother waiting for Cousland to continue. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, that's not what I meant by… I mean, if we don't bring them along for the ride, what's the point of bringing them along at all? I think we should take them with us, just in case," he interjected.

"Oh, come on, Al. We're just negotiating old treaties. What could we possibly need help slaying? Will the archdemon suddenly launch itself at us while we're waiting to get into the tower?" Cousland insisted.

"Could you stop calling me Al? Please?" Cousland's face remained blank. "…Oh, alright, fine. But if someone complains about not being able to tag along, you're taking the heat, not me."

A grin spread across Cousland's face. "Deal," he agreed as he helped Alistair to his feet.

"Now… Let me get dressed first. Unless, of course, you'd rather me address the Circle of Magi in my underwear."

"I'm sure there'd be no protest, but if you must."

The Grey Wardens left for Lake Calenhad minutes later with naught but their swords and shields on their backs. Cousland had contemplated bringing a backpack, something he had bought from the quartermaster in Ostagar only a week earlier, but that would defeat the purpose of leaving without the rest of their party. If they were expecting to get into serious danger on the way, they would need both the back_pack_ and the back_up_. He refused to admit to needing help, however, and insisted that whatever they could carry in their pockets would be good enough.

"I swear, Jack, if we end up dead because you were too prideful to ask for help from women…"

Cousland fashioned a fake-shocked expression. "As if my excessive pride could ever get us killed!" he gasped.

Alistair rolled his eyes, knowing his companion wouldn't listen anymore. "Alright, well, anyway, let's try it again," he continued.

"Seriously? _Again_?" Cousland whined. He tried to pout, but his lips were thick and wide and more resembled a fish puckering its lips for a kiss rather than the cute image he was going for.

"Do you realize how embarrassing it is when you try to quote the motto to other people? Sometimes I wonder how you were even recruited in the first place," Alistair said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Oddly enough, Cousland sobered at that. "Yes, well. Keep on wondering, then." Before Alistair could ask what he meant by that, he cleared his throat and went on. "In war…wait"—he paused to lower his voice an octave—"in war, sacrifice. In peace, victory. In death, vigilance."

Alistair just stared at him. "No, not even close."

"How was that not even close? I got the words right, didn't I?" Cousland questioned, sounding hurt.

"Not in the right order. Some of those don't even make any sense. I mean, death and vigilance? Are we supposed to watch for darkspawn when we're dead?" he snorted.

Cousland crossed his arms defiantly, lips forming his sad attempt at a pout yet again. "Why not? Grey Wardens are Grey Wardens; even if you die, that doesn't make you any less of a Grey Warden than you are now, right?" he retorted.

Unimpressed by the failed try at sounding deep, Alistair simply narrowed his eyes at the man. "Sure, whatever. Try again," he urged on.

He murmured something under his breath. "…In war, vigilance. In peace—"

"Wrong. Try again."

"In…vigilance, peace? In…uh…"

"Almost there. Again."

"In death… Maker's breath, Alistair. What am I, a dog?"

"No. _Your _dog is smarter."

Cousland had a witty retort prepared for that, but it caught in his throat the moment a panging instinct hit his gut. It was like an invisible force punching his stomach and knocking the wind from him, something he still couldn't get used to after only a week. "Darkspawn," he managed out hoarsely.

Alistair blinked warily and drew out his sword. "I feel it, too," he muttered cautiously as his eyes shifted from side to side.

Hot breath tickled Cousland's ear before he, too, drew his sword and ran it against the darkspawn behind him. Its blood sprayed at his armor and across his face, warm and thick against his skin. Cousland didn't have the time to wipe it away before another monster threw itself at him, its voice cracking as it screeched a battle cry. He took two deep slashes to its torso, one horizontal and one diagonal, and thrust his sword through its chest afterwards. As a third enemy charged at him, he discarded the darkspawn on his blade by tossing it aside. It slid quickly off, the blade now slippery with blood.

Taking a quick slash against the third's torso, he soon realized that it was wearing armor, unlike the other unprotected darkspawn. It took advantage of his surprise by moving forward for an attack. He swiftly dodged this, albeit still in shock, and continued to dodge its slashes by retreating backwards, barely missing the tips of its daggers. After a long dance of hacking and ducking, the brunet Warden finally found the instinct to draw his shield and hold it before him. The protection wouldn't hold for long, he knew; the wood it was made from had already been heavily damaged from the ogre, back in the Tower of Ishal.

"A little help, Al?" Cousland shouted across the field at his fellow Warden.

Woodchips were flying at his face as Alistair responded, "Are you talking to me? Because the last time I checked, my name was Alistair."

Cousland resumed retreating backwards, all the while keeping his shield up against the darkspawn. "I don't know if you've noticed, but this isn't exactly the time for witty banter!" he snapped.

Alistair ran his sword through three enemies at a time, knocking down another with his shield soon afterwards. "_I _don't know if _you've_ noticed, but for me, there isn't really a 'time' for witty banter. There also isn't a time when my name has been Al," he replied.

"Sodding Mother of Andraste—fine! A little help, _Alistair_?"

He sunk his sword into a dying darkspawn on the ground briefly. "Of course," he answered calmly. Forcing his sword out of the corpse, he started running towards the darkspawn assaulting Cousland, sword readily gripped in hand.

Meanwhile, the shield finally shattered into countless chips of wood, scattering across the field around Cousland and landing in his hair. Vulnerable without his shield, he held up his sword to block the blades coming at him before sprinting away, allowing the enemy to chase him down. "He's all yours!" Cousland yelped as he passed the blond Warden.

Both blades the darkspawn had possessed were thrown into the air. A wet, squelching sound soon followed. Once the blades reached the ground near their owner, a large pool of blood was starting to expand around the newly deceased darkspawn. Alistair flicked his sword at the air a few times, attempting to shake the blood off the steel, but to no avail. Cousland mirrored this action, but with much less grace. He waved it around violently, sending drops of cold, thick blood flying through the air.

"Whoa, hey, easy with the darkspawn blood. We don't want travelers passing through here to get affected by the taint," Alistair warned him.

Cousland frowned at the failed attempt at cleaning his sword and returned it to its sheath. He then recovered his broken shield from the ground. The metal that had been binding it was splattered with darkspawn blood, and the wood inside the circle was now torn into small fragments that barely resembled its former self. He sighed, tossed it aside, and continued down the path to Lake Calenhad with his fellow Warden.

"I suppose I'll be buying a new one once we get there," he said dryly. "Thanks, by the way."

Alistair shrugged. "No problem."

"Well, anyway, what were we talking about again?"

"The motto."

"What…? Oh, right. Uh…in war…death…?"

"Sure. _That's_ encouraging."

**-Loading…**

Cousland glowered at his new shield. It was smaller than the previous one—puny, even—and seemed even more used and worn out. The quartermaster had had a bigger, newer shield in stock, but it was much more expensive than the one he had bought instead. He held it up to see it from below, as if seeing it from a new perspective would make it bigger. It didn't.

"It's your fault for buying too much. I mean, look at this," Alistair said, stealing a green jewel from Cousland's pocket. "What could you possibly do with this? Do you even know what it is?"

He snatched it back and returned it to his pocket. "Yes, it's remarkable malachite, and I'm giving it to Leliana. Do you think she'll like it?" he asked.

Alistair peered at it for a moment. "No," he answered eventually.

Cousland shrugged and pocketed the jewel as well. "At any rate, we should get to the mages quickly. I want to get back in time for lunch," he insisted, picking up the pace.

"You're making this much simpler than it really is. I bet you haven't even seen an abomination before, let alone fought one," Alistair huffed.

"Have you? Come on, what could be worse than darkspawn?"

Both Wardens carelessly walked through the massive doors, oblivious to the three corpses on the floor until they were inside the hallway. Cousland caught himself before he could step on the mages' robes, stumbling as he stepped backwards to avoid it. The booming slam of the doors resounded the second his foot landed on the ground, sealing them in with the rest of the dead bodies. After carefully studying the doors that now locked him in, Cousland scanned the bodies at his feet. Two mages had been tossed onto the floor rather than fallen, blood speckling their robes. A templar had also been killed beside them, pure white coloring his horrified face.

He shivered at the sight. "Is it too late to get backup?" he pondered.

"Well, judging by the locked doors behind us, I'd say so, yes," Alistair quipped. Cousland couldn't laugh. "What's wrong? You aren't spooked by a few corpses, are you?"

"No, it's just… It brings back bad memories, is all," Cousland answered grimly, his voice becoming distant. He wasn't there anymore, instead absorbed in his own flashbacks playing in his mind.

Alistair was quiet for a moment, studying his companion. Finally, "We should get moving," he said solemnly. When his fellow Warden didn't budge, he moved on through the hallway by himself. Cousland took a moment of silence for the dead before following him.

Inside the mages' quarters, bunk beds and chests were tossed askew. The room still resembled an old home, and a feeling of nostalgia passed through Cousland, despite being unfamiliar with the place. He walked around the beds slowly, as if taking his time to reinvent the memories left there. Alistair was yelling into the empty air, probably checking if anyone was left, but no one answered.

"Hello! Is anyone in here! Hello?" Alistair continued to call. Again, silence. "There's no one here. We should go."

Cousland nodded vaguely, still scanning the room as they exited into the hallway. A single door waited for them at the end, as ornate and detailed as the rest of them. "Do you think anyone's waiting behind there?" Cousland inquired.

Alistair looked at him. "Only one way to find out," he replied simply.

The duo nodded at once before Cousland opened the door.


	3. Encounter

_"My capacity to feel differs from yours, but you also differ from all other beings. _

_You are no more a person than others, and I am no less a person than you are."_

_-Owain_

She reminded him of Ostagar. Her robes were different—much less shiny and golden—but he could still recognize the short white stem of hair growing out of her head, as well as the staff she held steadily in hand. It was definitely she, he knew that for a fact, but her presence felt misplaced. Ostagar wasn't a memory to him anymore, and had not been for a while. To him, it was a world of its own, detached from reality and continuing to live on its own. To him, she was not supposed to be there, instead belonging to the world of Ostagar he had created in his mind. To him, she was supposed to be dead.

Cousland squinted at the old woman. "Wynne? Is that you?" he said, still studying her unsurely.

The old woman blinked in confusion for a moment, small eyes widening a fraction, before realizing who he was. "I…I met you. At Ostagar," she recalled. She withdrew her defensive stance, returning her staff to her back.

He beamed. "You remember me!"

"Well, it is hard to forget the image of a grown man dancing and making faces at the Circle of Magi whilst they were still in the Fade," Wynne replied with a hint of a smile.

Cousland stiffened at the memory, clearly embarrassed in front of his fellow Warden. Said Warden seemed unaffected by the news, however. "Not all that surprising, really," Alistair admitted.

Wynne cleared her throat, catching their attention. "Why are you here? Did Greagoir send you?" she questioned.

"Yes. Though he doubted we would be able to help you," Alistair answered, taking the conversation into a more serious light.

She was silent for a moment, gaze falling to the ground. "So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope. He probably assumes we're all dead," she mused quietly. "They abandoned us to our fate."

"Hey, don't talk like that. We're here, aren't we? There's still hope," Cousland cut in firmly.

"True. Even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand up against them," she said.

Cousland couldn't respond to that. "I… We need to go on ahead. To fight the abominations," he managed out finally, his voice shaking with undeniable guilt.

"If you are here to kill abominations, let me help you," Wynne decided suddenly.

He hadn't been that surprised since Leliana offered to join them. "Uh…no offense, but…aren't you a bit…er…I mean, it's not that you're a woman—I am _great_ with women… Not like that, though! I-I meant it in a gentlemanly sense! Not that I do poorly with women, it's just that in this context I meant…uh…" he trailed off, shrinking beneath her blank stare.

Alistair snorted. "I think you broke him," he joked. Again sporting a nervous smile, Cousland smacked him in the arm.

Wynne ignored his obvious discomfort. "I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children," she continued, turning towards the white and blue glow of magic towards the other end of the room. Cousland blinked at the warm colors hovering over the door, so absorbed by its allure that he almost missed her next sentence. "You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle," she finished.

"So either we let a powerful mage come with us to kill equally powerful creatures we have no experience with, or we turn back and lose an entire quarter of an army against the Blight… If this is supposed to be blackmail, you aren't very good at it," Alistair remarked lightly.

"Don't be stupid, Al. Old people don't blackmail," Cousland chided. He paused. "…Shit, I just called you old, didn't I?"

"Yes, and yes they do. I simply choose not to," Wynne answered with a small smile.

Cousland just grinned sheepishly. "I s'pose we have no choice, then… Welcome aboard, Wynne!" he said, stretching a congratulatory hand out to the old woman.

Albeit hesitantly, she approached the Warden and shook his hand, gripping it firmly. Cousland frowned, recognizing her strength overcoming his own gentle touch, and shook her hand a bit harder. Her hand grew ever firmer as he did this, promptly defeating him at his own game.

His eyebrows rose in shock. "Wow. Firm handshake," he whistled.

"Thank you," Wynne replied simply. She smiled. It made her look younger, as if she was naturally as youthful as he was, if not more so. Wynne would certainly fit in just fine…

**-Loading…**

Cousland nearly jumped out of his skin as one last explosion erupted nearby, clutching onto Alistair's arm for comfort. "Maker's _sodding _breath! What's with the random explosions?" he gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

Alistair seemed as dazed as Cousland was. "I told you we should've brought them along. I told you," he scolded halfheartedly, eyes still wide from shock. Suddenly recognizing who was hanging on his arm, he snapped out of his reverie and shooed the brunet off. "Calm down, you."

Both Wardens' faces were dusted black from the ashes scattered about the room, though Wynne remained completely unscathed. They'd finally reached the stairs to the second floor, after what felt like dozens upon dozens of hallways lined with bookcases and demons from the Fade. Different scents of blood and leather-bound texts hung thick in the air, and the distasteful smell had become more than nauseating for the Cousland. The only comfort he had was that Leliana would be far from this wretched place, that he had done her a service by not bringing her here.

"Though it'd be nice to see her smiling face again…" Cousland mumbled almost inaudibly.

Wynne blinked curiously at the man. "What was that?" she inquired.

He mustered a smile. "Nothing, Wynne. Let's go," he insisted, motioning for them to climb the stairs.

The double doors at the top of the steps creaked as Cousland pushed them open. Behind them, a taller staircase rolled out before them, leading to yet another set of double doors. With a cautious gulp, Cousland continued up the stairs and towards the next floor, Alistair and Wynne following close behind. A single torch that was beginning to lose its flame, as it flickered dangerously between life and death, dimly lighted the stairway. It was eerie, the way their footsteps echoed off the walls in the midst of all that silence. Cousland imagined there should've been more screaming or bloodshed or—

"Boo!"

"_Holy shit_!"

Out of blind panic, the brunet Warden swiped his blade against the nearest object, which happened to be a very familiar shield. Sudden laughter occurred as soon as his sword clashed against it. After a moment of sheer confusion, the noble deadpanned and withdrew his sword, remaining unimpressed by Alistair's practical joke. "I could've hurt someone, you know," he grumbled.

Alistair was still laughing. "That would be your fault, not mine," he corrected with a snort.

"You're a bastard," Cousland accused, wearing his infamous failed pout.

"Oh, come on! You've done much worse!" Alistair retorted.

Cousland crossed his arms defiantly. "Oh? Like what?" he challenged.

"During our quest in the Korcari Wilds, you convinced Ser Jory that that mystery topping they put on his sandwich was darkspawn blood," Alistair answered promptly, not missing a beat.

He threw his hands up in the air. "That barely counts! Ser Jory was such a softy; how could I not pick on him?" he objected.

Wynne cut through the two men patiently. "This isn't the time for idle chatter. We need to get to the rest of the mages," she chided lightly as she continued up the staircase.

Both Wardens obeyed and followed behind her, still conversing as they went further up. "Fine. But for the record, I won that one," Alistair said.

"It's open for discussion until we return to camp," Cousland said firmly.

Alistair raised an eyebrow at him. "How? I completely won that time, and you know it!" he questioned.

Cousland shook his head decisively. "I'm the leader here; I'm the one that can postpone witty banter sessions," he declared.

"Oh, alright…" Alistair sighed, giving up on the matter. "…Fish Lips."

"Hey!" Cousland snapped, frowning insecurely as Alistair resumed his laughing. He raised an apprehensive hand to cover his pouting lips, face now turning red as he attempted to measure the size of his mouth. "My lips are normal! You just have a small mouth."

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, the senior mage sighed. "You two are so animated. I can hardly keep up," she chuckled tiredly.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. We go back and forth like this all the time," Cousland assured her as he dropped his hand to his side.

Wynne simply acknowledged him with a nod as she pushed open the doors leading to the second floor. An empty, abandoned hallway opened up in front of them, as dark and cold as the rest of the tower was. The air was clear of any upsetting stenches the floor below it had, but felt even tenser and quieter than before. No bloodstains or dead bodies were sprawled out on the floor, but there wasn't any sign of life, either. As Cousland took a cautious step forward, Wynne said something beside him. He barely caught the last of it, hearing something about someone being okay…though he highly doubted it.

As the three wandered further into the room, a single man caught Cousland's eye. He stood eerily still, dark eyes looking past them at something that wasn't there. It seemed like he was waiting for something, perhaps for someone to come and fetch him. The thought of that made him seem less like a person and more like an object, even as they drew closer to him to address his presence.

"Please refrain from going into the stockroom," the man said tranquilly. "It is a mess and I've not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen."

Cousland blinked at his calm demeanor, incredulous. "What are you doing here?" he inquired.

The man remained unaffected by his surprise. "I was trying to tidy up, but there was little I could do," he responded, though with somewhat of a disappointed expression. Cousland took a glance at the stockroom he was attempting to 'tidy up', and found the dead bodies that he thought the floor had lacked.

He shuddered at the image. "Don't you…want to get out of here?" he asked slowly.

"I tried to leave when things got quiet. That was when I encountered the barrier. Finding no other way out, I returned to work," he explained.

Both Wardens looked at Wynne, who looked somewhat upset with him. "Owain, you should have said something! I would have opened the door for you," she chided him.

"The stockroom is familiar. I prefer to be here," he insisted.

"Haven't you come across abominations?" Cousland continued the questioning.

The man called Owain shook his head. "No. I suppose I should count myself lucky," he mused.

"Wow. Now _that's_ guts," Alistair remarked with a whistle.

Cousland raised an eyebrow at him. "Gee, and I thought I was supposed to be the one making smart comments at inappropriate times," he said sarcastically. Wynne glared at the two, silently steering them back into a more serious light.

"I would prefer not to die. I would prefer it if the tower returned to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all," Owain thought aloud.

Though the name was unfamiliar, Cousland pressed on. "What's this Niall trying to do?" he questioned.

Owain shrugged very slightly. "I do not know, but he came here with several others, and took the Litany of Adralla," he recalled.

Wynne seemed to recognize the term. "But that protects from mind domination. Is blood magic at work here?" she inquired.

"I do not know," Owain answered automatically.

"Niall was in the meeting; he would know. Blood magic… I was afraid of this," Wynne said quietly, her gaze turning downwards.

Cousland blinked unsurely between the two mages. "So…what now? Does this Litany of Adralla thing have any impact on where we go now?" he asked.

"We should find Niall. The Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter," Wynne suggested.

He laughed shortly. "So we're using him? Awesome. Now this is more like it," he joked with a chuckle.

Wynne sighed, albeit with a tired smile. "Is he always like this?" she asked his fellow Warden, who had been tuning out of the conversation for some time already.

Alistair shrugged. "Judging from the week that I've known him for? Yes, all the time," he replied.

"I wish you luck. Perhaps this will be over soon and things will return to the way they were. Goodbye," Owain said as hopefully as he could sound.

Cousland waved shortly at the tranquil mage. "See you around, Owain. Keep safe; it'll be over before you know it," he assured him before leaving the stockroom behind.

As they exited the stockroom and entered the next hallway, Alistair caught up with Cousland quickly so he could place a hand on his shoulder and pull him aside. "Do you really think this'll all be over soon?" he whispered so Wynne could not hear him.

The brunet took a moment to think before shrugging. "Well, that's what he wants to believe, so let's let him. The poor guy seems so emotionless as it is; why not let him have a bit of hope, right?" Cousland insisted.

"I call bullshit."

Cousland paused, face solemn and stern. Alistair returned the blank stare, determined to tear down his serious act. Finally, after a full minute of the two staring each other down, Cousland chuckled slightly. "Yeah, okay, you caught me. I wanted to say something heroic to see if I could get a smile out of him. Mother used to tell me if you could get a Tranquil to smile, they become more human again and transfer their magic powers to you!" he admitted with a sheepish laugh. "…Or something like that."

"And you believed that? Cute."

"Oh shut up."


	4. Stranger

"_So frightened was I of this creature's legendary abilities to twist the hearts of men,  
and so relieved was I when I looked across the table into her dark eyes."  
-from the journal of former Senior Enchanter Maleus, once of the Circle of Rivain, declared apostate in 9:20 Dragon Age._

"Well, that's another templar down," Alistair proclaimed, drawing his sword from the possessed templar's head.

Cousland cringed as it squelched wetly. "Ugh, Maker… How could you possibly do that with a straight face?" he groaned in disgust as he looked away from the sight.

Alistair shrugged and returned his sword to its sheath. "You're awfully squeamish today. Is something the matter?" he asked.

"No. I'm just not as open to pointless violence as you are, is all," he replied, a tad too quickly for Alistair's taste.

"This coming from the guy that stuck a sword through three darkspawn at once? No…something else must be bothering you. What is it?" Alistair pressed, now raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

He narrowed his eyes at the senior Warden. "Why so intrusive, Al? You don't hear me poking into your personal life," he grumbled bitterly.

"What are you talking about? You're always asking me about my life in the Chantry, my life as a Grey Warden, my life _before_ the Chantry—you ask me about everything from my past life to my taste in statuettes!" Alistair exclaimed.

"Hey, those things are creepy. It's not my fault if I thought you were making some sort of weirdo shrine," Cousland said with a small, failed pout.

"Oh, yes, you caught me. I'm not collecting them because it's a hobby; I'm collecting them so I can sacrifice them to the almighty god of cheese!" he said sardonically.

Cousland grinned at his ally, overlooking his own anger towards him. "Knew it. Though I'd rather sacrifice them to the almighty god of beer," he suggested.

"Good point. I'll try that once you buy me a new dragon statuette," Alistair agreed with a mock-solemn nod.

The junior Warden sniggered, and then there was silence. Neither could define the stillness, wavering between awkward and comfortable, but continued waiting in it before Cousland thought of something to say. "This place…must've been someone's home, right?" he blurted out quietly, eyes rising towards the ceiling.

Unsure of where Cousland was going with this, Alistair answered, "I suppose it was. According to Wynne, the templars used this as their private quarters. Why? Does that…mean something to you?"

Now it was Cousland's turn to be confused. He looked back down at Alistair. "_No_. I was just wondering where the hell they were supposed to sleep. I mean, do you see any beds around here?" he snorted, gesturing at their mainly empty surroundings.

Alistair deadpanned. "I suppose I don't," he said curtly.

Puzzled by Alistair's obvious irritation, Cousland just grinned. The smile faded quickly, however. "Hey…where'd Wynne go?" he remembered.

"Uh…" Alistair trailed off to glance around for the old mage. "Good question."

Their answer was an ominous thud coming from the hallway. Both Wardens sprinted towards the door to throw it back open, revealing Wynne lying against the wall, passed out. Her clothes were now spotted with blood, but it was impossible to tell if it was her own or the charmed templars'. Alistair was quick to rush to her side; Cousland was quicker to rush towards the charmed victims and the desire demon controlling them. A few of them lay slain on the floor, but several more remained standing, each dressed in uniform templar armor. He ran past them to kill the demon first, yet was thwarted by a templar throwing himself in front of her and taking the first strike at him. Cousland easily dodged this, but then had to face attacks from behind by the other templars. He drew his sword and hastily turned to block their strikes, barely keeping up with the seemingly countless amount of blades attacking him at once as he was backed into a corner.

Wynne awoke to the gloved hands of Alistair, who was tending to her wounds with an injury kit they had picked up from one of the corpses. She turned her head to watch the battle unfolding within the room she had been tossed out of, vision blurring as she fought to see Cousland struggle for his life. As she helplessly groped around for her staff, the blond Warden spoke.

"Don't move; I'm almost done," he muttered distantly, absorbed in concentration as he attempted to finish bandaging her arm. Blood was seeping through the cut there at a rapid rate, making it a messy and difficult job to fulfill. His chainmail gloves were already coated with her blood, and were much too big for handling a delicate job such as this. Regardless, he had no choice but to continue bandaging, lest he just leave her there to bleed to death. "Damn templars…"

The senior mage ignored his grumbling and continued grasping for her staff, determined to help the other Grey Warden. Meanwhile, said Warden had managed to knock over one of the templars, temporarily leaving him out of the picture as he continued his attempt to ward the charmed men off. The practiced swinging motion in his arms was beginning to exhaust his muscles, which were tiring from this seemingly hopeless battle. His shield was not an option at that point, since his back was too close to the wall for him to reach for it. The wooden protection was beginning to break between his back and the corner he was being forced into, ready to burst into pieces at any given moment. Desperate, Cousland began kicking blindly at the armor, effectively crushing his cheaply made shield in the process.

Finally finding a firm grip on her staff, Wynne waved it weakly at Cousland. He was near ready to collapse and let the blades slice him open, legs trembling weakly. Just as the blade was slipping from his palm, a sudden healing strength returned to his body. The warmth of it restored his vigor as well, causing a sadistic smile upon his lips. He grasped his sword tightly yet again and resumed blocking the templars' strikes, patiently waiting for his fellow Warden to join him in the battle.

Instead of heading in towards the corner of the room to assist Cousland, however, Alistair went directly for the unprotected desire demon, sinking his sword in directly through her chest. Her cry of pain alerted the templars attacking Cousland, allowing him an opportunity to slice three of their heads off. Alistair joined him shortly, battling one of the last two templars standing. They clashed swords briefly before Alistair knocked him over, proceeding to sink his sword into the charmed templar's throat shortly afterwards. By the time he finished off his opponent, Cousland was done and heading back towards Wynne to help her up.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, voice soft with concern.

She nodded faintly. "Yes, I'm fine. We should continue moving. The others are probably faring far worse than I am," she insisted, straightening herself.

Cousland sighed, relieved. "Maker's breath, Wynne… Why didn't you call us over?" he asked.

A small grin adorned her lips. "Well, I didn't want to interrupt. You two seemed to be having a moment," she replied.

"A moment?" Cousland echoed, blinking. "Meaning...?"

"Nothing. I suppose I was wrong, then," Wynne answered. When Cousland just continued to stare, confused, she smiled reassuringly.

Cousland seemed ready to question her further, but then Alistair was finished with the looting and cut right through their conversation. "Alright, I'm done here. Let's keep it moving," Alistair announced as he returned to the hallway, pocketing a few items that he had gathered.

There was a hint of something shiny that Cousland spotted before it disappeared into Alistair's pocket. He beamed. "Are those more remarkable gems? Hand them over," he insisted.

"But they're _shiny_. And Leliana won't like them, anyway..."

"Calm down, I'll get you some cheese or something when we're done here."

"...Cheese doesn't _shine_, though."

**-Loading…**

There were voices coming from inside, but Cousland was too busy eavesdropping to care.

"What if they're about to have sex in there? Do you really want to walk in on that?" he whispered to Alistair. They were crouched behind the wall separating them from the apparent lovers inside, arguing over whether or not to enter in hushed whispers. Wynne remained standing, leaning against the wall and half-listening to the Wardens' conversation as she wondered just how the Circle's fate landed in their hands.

Alistair dared not peek into the room. "They're not having_ sex_. They're probably just...chatting. Pleasantly. About-"

"About sex, yes. That doesn't make it any less awkward," Cousland cut in. "And how can you assume it's only two people in there? What if there are _two _charmed templars in there—what if it's a threesome?"

"Oh, Andraste's bloody grave, you can't be serious…" Alistair groaned.

Wynne sunk down to their level, kneeling beside Alistair as she spoke, "If they are about to engage in sexual intercourse, that is all the more reason to enter that room."

Both Wardens just stared. "…Well! Didn't think you were that kind of girl, Wynne," Cousland whistled.

"Demons that breed with humans can bear disastrous monsters as offspring…though more often than not, this is not the case. No, usually the demon will taint the man's…ahem, 'reproductive organ', so that he cannot produce sperm anymore," Wynne explained calmly. Their jaws dropped. "Having intercourse with a desire demon can cause his 'reproductive organ' to…well." She leaned over to whisper the last part of this in Alistair's ear.

"-Sweet Mother of Andraste! I did _not_ need to know that!" Alistair shouted, immediately squirming away from the mage.

Cousland couldn't even find the humor in a panicked Alistair. He gulped. "Poor bastard," he grunted shortly.

A masculine voice echoed into the hallway. "Do you hear something, Love?" he inquired.

The two Wardens became rigid. "It is nothing, my darling. Just the door. I will get it," the desire demon purred from inside.

"…What now?" Cousland whispered to Alistair. "Do you think we can take them?"

He crawled over Cousland temporarily to peek inside at the desire demon. "There's only the two of them in there. We'll be fine," he reported quietly before withdrawing back to his spot. He grinned at him. "No third party. I win."

Cousland peeked into the room as well, watching the desire demon converse with her charmed templar. "Yeah, well, we still have that 'have I done worse?' argument to finish, so don't brag just yet," he muttered.

Finally rising off the floor, the three nodded to each other in unison before Cousland threw open the door, drawing his sword from his back. "Demon! Die!" he screeched at the desire demon inside, pointing his sword at her.

"What _was_ that?" the templar exclaimed.

The desire demon glared at the three over her shoulder before turning back to her 'lover', crying out in a mock-innocent voice, "Help! There are bandits at the door! They are going to murder the children!"

"They will not get past me!" he declared as passionately as a charmed templar could sound.

As the two Wardens charged into battle, several shambling corpses emerged from their sleep, blades ready in their bony hands as they slowly came forth. Cousland narrowed his eyes at the blond Warden. "Gee, Alistair, did they teach you how to count when you were becoming a templar?" he spat sarcastically.

Alistair returned the glare. "Sorry, they didn't teach us to include imaginary corpses that could spring back to life at any given moment!" he retorted.

Wynne simply sighed at the duo. This was going to be a long battle.


	5. Actor

"_Always as close as our own thoughts, but impossibly separated from our world."  
-from _The Tranquility and the Role of the Fade in Human Culture, _by First Enchanter Josephus_

He remembered this smell. It was a faded, simple scent that used to be strong and had gradually become weaker. The aroma reminded him of the garden she used to tend back home, back when they were too young to like girls and instead played games in the yard with the rest of the children. She had created some sort of fancy perfume from some of the flowers there and used it on herself, since they did not have a daughter to give it to. It no longer had labels such as 'a rose scent' or 'fresh aroma'; it simply became known as 'her smell'. He loved this smell.

She always wore too much makeup. He wanted to tell her this, but knew she would just flush and insist that he was flattering her when he said that she looked fine in her natural beauty. Even now, even without looking at her, he knew she was wearing some extravagant shade of eye makeup, probably her favorite shade of blue. Light blue was her favorite shade of eye shadow, she said, but brown would always be her favorite hair color because that was the color that reminded her of her boys.

"Enough now, Jack. Let me look at you," she laughed next to his ear.

Cousland withdrew from the embrace. "I thought I'd never get to see you again, Mum," he sighed, looking her over once more. She was, indeed, wearing her favorite eye makeup, but something about it now seemed less exaggerated and more familiar, as if she wouldn't be herself if she weren't wearing it.

Teryna Eleanor simply smiled at him. "Oh, don't get so mushy on me now. You're a mighty Grey Warden now, aren't you?" she giggled teasingly. He laughed with her, though it felt more like a sigh of relief.

"I wouldn't say that. Duncan's a much better Grey Warden than I. I barely did anything during the last battle," Cousland admitted with a sheepish grin.

Duncan put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't be so modest, Jack," he insisted tranquilly. "You did a fine job."

He turned to his mother to hug her a temporary goodbye before turning back towards Duncan, following him towards the stairway down. "It's nice to see you again, Duncan. Do you need something from me?" he inquired.

"You've been at Weisshaupt for some time now. Do you like it here?" Duncan asked back, smiling hospitably.

Cousland frowned slightly at his tone. It was odd, how at peace with himself he seemed now. During the Joining and his time at Ostagar, Duncan always seemed so troubled, as if he feared the worst had yet to come. What had happened? "…I don't know…something doesn't seem…right," he answered hesitantly. He must've come off as seeming rude, but Duncan's strange smile was unsettling.

Duncan raised an eyebrow at him. "Everything's as it should be. We have eradicated the darkspawn, and the world is at peace," he assured him.

"That's not right… The world is never utterly at peace," Cousland argued, frowning confusedly. His head was starting to hurt terribly.

"But now it is, for the first time in history. And you played a part in the making of that history. Do you not remember?" Duncan questioned. Mockingly. As if it were all a joke.

The noble wracked his mind, searching for an answer. He found memories of the Tower of Ishal, of a disgusting ogre near its roof. "…Vaguely, as though it were a dream," he replied.

Duncan smiled nostalgically. "It was a triumph for all of us, bringing down the archdemon and setting the underground lairs ablaze," he explained.

A faint grin graced Cousland's lips, recalling Alistair's joking response when he had asked if the archdemon would approach during the battle…and it didn't. It couldn't have. The grin fell from his face. "That's not possible. You're hiding something from me," he accused. His head felt as if it were about to split in two at that point. Nursing it with his right hand, the noble cast his gaze downwards, losing his concentration.

"Foolish child," Duncan spat. Cousland peeked up at the elder Warden through his fingers, suddenly not recognizing the malicious glare he was receiving. "I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?"

"_The darkspawn are not gone_…to ignore them is irresponsible!" Cousland blurted out. His headache was causing the world around him to swirl now, but he didn't care. He finally looked up at the person he knew was not Duncan. "You would know that, if you were real."

The demon in disguise scowled at him. "It seems only war and death will satisfy you. So be it! Have your war and your darkspawn! May they be your doom!" he hissed.

Cousland had to gather himself quickly in order to dodge the fake Duncan's first slash, his head still recovering from his mysterious headache. He swayed backwards as he continued to dodge the demon's attacks, barely missing them with each step he took back. Once he fully recovered, the noble drew his sword and aimed a swing towards the fake Duncan's neck, only to be blocked by his sword. They continued on like that, sparks flying as they clashed swords together, until a sudden static shock hit him in the back. Cousland wheezed violently, falling to his knees, while the demon continued swinging his sword at him. He struggled to raise his sword up against the fake Duncan's, holding him there until he could grab the newly stolen shield off his back and protect himself against the mage's spells.

His sword wouldn't hold up for long, and the fake Duncan seemed to be winning their struggle. Finally, Cousland rose off the ground and let the demon stumble forward, using his shield to knock him to the ground in his surprise. Before the fake Duncan could get up again, Cousland beheaded him. No blood pooled around the body, nor did any stain his sword. Cousland stared at the oddity for a moment before the mage attacked him with a static shock yet again. He took a moment to regain his concentration before charging towards the mage, holding up his new shield as he ran. He easily sliced through the mage Warden with one blow, again without any literal 'bloodshed'.

"Jack…what are you doing?"

The brunet noble froze. Her voice was coming from behind, hopeless and sobbing. "Look what you've done…! After all they've done for you!" she cried. She had the same accent she claimed she didn't have. She had the same gentle tone she used when comforting him, the same anxiety she used when she was upset. "Oh dear Maker…! There's blood—blood everywhere!" It sounded so much like her. "You don't have to do this, Jack… You have family at home. You have a life!" It sounded _so much_ like her...

Sword still in hand, Cousland turned to address her. "Don't do this. Please," he said quietly.

"I can't just stand by while you throw your life away and murder these innocent people!" she wept.

"Even you…even a demon such as you…you can't make me do this…" Cousland trailed off softly. His voice wavered dangerously. "Don't make me beg,_ please_."

She held her hands to her chest, where her heart was supposed to be, choking down sobs as she screamed, "I am not a demon, Jack! I am your mother!"

He snapped.

What happened next became a blur in his memory. One moment he stood there, mere yards away from the demon calling herself his mother, the next he hovered over her limp body, supposedly killed and dead. It took a moment for it to register, as his thoughts had become jumbled with fear. She wasn't special; she didn't bleed, just like the rest of the demons he had killed there. But she did cry. Tears still remained in her wide, dead eyes that could see nothing, and continued to leave her in tiny, salty droplets.

Cousland was panting. Sharp, unreal breaths exhausted his lungs until they felt ready to explode. He didn't know why; perhaps it had been a tiring battle. His hands were shaking, but they remained on the hilt of his blade, tightly gripped as if it were the last thing in the world that was real. The image he saw as he looked down at the corpse that was supposed to be his mother was forever burned in his mind, as was the horror he felt when he fully realized it was his sword that had been stuck through her chest, his sword that had killed her. A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach hit him hard, and he wanted nothing more than to throw up then and there. There wouldn't be anything to throw up, however, he realized numbly.

That's when he noticed the pedestal. Its bluish glow reached at his back, beckoning for him to come forward. At first, he refused to look away from what he had done, refused to let go of the last thing that resembled family, regardless of whether or not she was real. Yet, at the same time, he could not help but slowly lift his head and watch the pedestal emit warm, benevolent sensations. The mere sight of it felt as if it was designed to comfort him, and he found it difficult to look away.

When he looked back down at the thing he had just killed, he could only recognize her as a stranger.

"…I refuse to cry over my mother's imposter," he spoke to no one. He drew his sword from the ground and returned it to its sheath. "So there."

Practicing the fake grin he was likely to use once they left the Fade, Cousland trekked up the stairs and into the kind light.

**-Loading…**

After the dreaming templar faded into nothing, Cousland took a moment to stretch his arms, yawning tiredly. It felt like time was moving faster than it did in the real world, as if he had been in Weisshaupt a mere five minutes earlier. Soon enough, he would find Alistair and Wynne, and they could finally return to a place where mice didn't talk and random fires didn't lurk behind every door. Maybe he could buy Leliana some flowers on the way back to camp, to make up for being late for lunch. Or should he get those flowers for Morrigan? Would she even like flowers? She seemed more like the jewelry type. Plus, he didn't want to have to spend more money on her after that incident with Bodahn…

Quickly becoming bored of his own thoughts, Cousland decided to test out his newly found skills. He had yet to test the dreaming templar's abilities, and felt like this one would be less trivial than the mouse form he had learned in the Raw Fade. Rubbing his hands together in concentration, Cousland closed his eyes and let the world around him disappear. With one swift movement, a brief warm glow encompassed his entity and transformed his body.

The next thing he knew, he was on fire. "…Shitshitshitshitshit!" Cousland cussed. Unsure of what else to do, he began running around the room, hands raised towards the ceiling. "Maker's-sodding-Andraste-bloody-breathing-!" His swears were starting to blend together, creating one giant cursing mess that would make any cloistered sister blush. Particularly Leliana.

Wait, what?

"That's it, I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. I'm beginning to get my innuendos mixed up," Cousland muttered, rubbing his burning head. "Not only that, but I'm starting to talk to myself… I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm beginning to get tired of the sound of my own voice…huh?" His skin. It wasn't burning. Finally, he looked down at his own hand, which was still lit aflame. "Oh…I'm immune to being burned…or...something...weird like that."

Silently resolving to stop talking to himself, Cousland thanked the Maker that Alistair wasn't there to make fun of him. The damn bastard wouldn't have let him live it down.

**-Loading…**

"_Hey_, it's great to see you again! I was just thinking about you, isn't that a marvelous coincidence?" Alistair greeted merrily, a freakishly tranquil smile plastered to his face.

Cousland just stared at him. "Greetings," he replied lamely. Belatedly, "And no, that's actually rather creepy."

The comment went ignored. "This is my sister, Goldanna," Alistair introduced, motioning towards the woman beside him. She was staring at him evenly, eyes empty and dark. This was probably another demon, like the ones that had pretended to be his mother and Duncan, but he wasn't sure if Alistair would listen to him if he tried to tell him this.

Cousland didn't bother paying attention to the rest of what Alistair was saying. The smile was scaring him. "You seem…content," he chose his words carefully.

"I am! I'm happier than I've been my entire life. Isn't that strange? I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it doesn't. This does," Alistair sighed.

Fake Goldanna snuck into the conversation, "I'm overjoyed to have my little brother back. I'll never let him out of my sight again!"

"You live with your sister. Somehow, I'm not all that surprised by this," Cousland chuckled nervously. Her eyes were boring into his, threatening and ominous.

"There's nothing wrong with living with my sister. I've never had a real family, before," Alistair defended, though he hardly seemed offended by Cousland's jesting. It almost made teasing him boring. Almost.

He narrowed his eyes at the blond. "I've been asking you about your family for ages, why haven't you mentioned her before? Dammit, Al, once we get out of the Fade, I'm not letting you live this down," he said with another failed pout.

Alistair just blinked at him confusedly. "The Fade? What are you talking about?" he questioned.

"Well, Alistair, is your friend staying for supper?" Fake Goldanna chimed in. Cousland glared at her sharply, but was only met with a pleasant smile.

The blond reverted back to his original oblivious state. "Say you'll stay! Goldanna's a great cook! Maybe she'll make her mince pie! You can, can't you?" Alistair begged.

"Of course, dear brother. Anything for you," Fake Goldanna answered. She was smirking at him like she quite literally wanted to gobble him up for supper.

Cousland rolled his eyes, disgusted by the demon's charade. "I'm getting tired of this… She's just a demon in disguise. Don't believe any of this," he warned.

Alistair's mouth dropped open. "How could you say that about Goldanna? She's…she's the soul of goodness!" he spoke slowly, unsure of what he was trying to say himself. Cousland couldn't help but snigger.

"That's your templar knowledge for you. First counting, now grammar," Cousland mocked with an ever-widening grin.

His jesting went ignored a second time. "You're acting really strangely," Alistair accused, peering at him oddly.

Cousland sighed. It was like arguing with a two-year-old. "Okay, Al… Think about how you got here. Think carefully. I know this may be hard for you, since you can't really 'think', but…" he directed calmly.

"Alright… If it'll make you shut up, I…" Alistair paused, the frustration dropping from his face. "It's…it's a little fuzzy. That's strange."

Fake Goldanna was quick to interject. "Alistair, come and have some tea," she beckoned smoothly.

Alistair didn't even bother to look at her. "No…wait… I remember…a tower, the Circle… It was under attack… There were demons. That's all I really remember," he recalled gradually.

"Well, that's the gist of it, sure," Cousland admitted with a shrug. "I'm just glad you remembered anything at all."

The blond's eyes widened. "A-are you saying…this is a-a dream? But it's so real…" he stuttered. It seemed as if the world were crumbling before his eyes.

Cousland frowned at his comrade, somewhat guilty for ripping him from his dream. "He's a real bastard, that sloth demon. He reaches into your mind, finds your deepest desires, and… I'm sorry, Alistair," he apologized, though he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for.

He just stared at Cousland, struck silent by his sudden seriousness. "Don't listen to him, Alistair. Of course this is real. Now wash up before supper and I-!" Fake Goldanna snapped, losing control of the situation.

"Something doesn't feel quite right here," Alistair cut in. "I…think I have to go."

Cousland nodded firmly. "Right then. Let's leave before the demons lose the façade and start talking all gravelly like," he decided, a grin returning to his features.

"No! He is ours, and I'd rather see him dead than free!" Fake Goldanna boomed. Her lips curled into an ugly snarl.

"Uhp. Too late," Cousland laughed, reaching a hand towards the blade on his back.

Hesitantly, Alistair drew his own sword from his back as well, striking at a nearby shambling corpse that had been posing as one of his nephews. Cousland took the liberty of slaying the fake Goldanna, knowing his companion wouldn't want to do this himself. Although she seemed defenseless at first, a flick of her hand threw him back a couple of yards, nearly knocking him out. He shook off the dizziness boggling his mind and charged at her again, holding his shield up against whatever magic she had in store. Instead of striking her with his sword, he decided to smack her with his shield, unwilling to let her take a shot at his sword. She fell over immediately upon impact, allowing him to do the usual and finish her off with his blade. Before he could take the final blow, however, she caught the blade with her bare hands.

Cousland struggled to force his sword from her grip. "Get off, you stupid harpy!" he spat crudely, resorting to using both hands on the hilt.

She only tightened her grip, a sickeningly wide grin spreading across her face, and jerked the sword around with great force. Cousland stumbled and fell on his arm, gritting his teeth at the demon as she took the sword into her own hand and pointed it at his neck, staring down at him with taunting disdain. He was stunned with fear at that point, feeling the end coming upon him, but couldn't let her have the satisfaction of seeing his terror. Instead, he continued feigning anger, glaring up at her defiantly.

As she lifted his blade to the air, he shut his eyes in reflex. Less than a second later, the sound of a body collapsing onto the ground caused him to reopen his eyes. The tip of his sword came close to his nose, having been dropped to the ground. He scrambled to recover, retrieving his sword and turning around to see the fake Goldanna on the ground. Not thinking to ask questions about it, Cousland shoved his blade straight through her back. The demon cried out in pain and proceeded to squirm desperately, as if she could save herself by grasping onto something real. Moments later, she became motionless.

"You're welcome, Jack," Alistair said, startling him.

Cousland scanned the area behind Alistair, where shambling corpses laid slain. He frowned. "You finished them _already_? Dammit, Al, save some for me next time! I feel really bloody useless now…" he complained.

The blond merely rolled his eyes at him. "Yes, uh, well… Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled I was," he requested nervously, embarrassed by his odd behavior. "Are we going now?"

He didn't respond, too caught off guard by the sudden wisps that were encompassing his comrade. "Err…" he trailed off.

"Wait! Where are you going? What's happening to me? Heey!" Alistair whined, disappearing altogether.

Cousland just stared at the place where the blond had been. "…Great. Now I'm back to talking to myself," he grumbled.


	6. Smile

"_You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."  
-Alistair_

"Ooh, pretty."

Cousland merely rolled his eyes and approached the 'pretty' pinkish-glowing barrier that was holding a single templar inside. Bodies that they presumed were his companions accompanied him inside, all sporting the same templar uniform they had seen dozens of times that day.

The survivor squinted at Cousland oddly, causing him to grow uncomfortable. "Uh…hey, man," he greeted slowly.

"This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong…" the templar said firmly, kneeling on the ground. He placed both hands at either side of his head, trying to block them out.

Cousland raised a curious eyebrow at him. "A templar, and it seems he is a prisoner," he mused.

Faking a cough, Alistair uttered the words 'thank you Ser Obvious' as loudly as he could. Cousland stuck his tongue out at him. "Oh, that's mature," Alistair retorted.

Wynne touched the barrier lightly. "The boy is exhausted. And this cage… I've never seen anything like it," she remarked quietly. She smiled gently at the poor man. "Rest easy. Help is here."

"Enough visions!" the templar cried out, causing the mage to withdraw. Cousland glared at the man. "If anything in you is human…kill me now and stop this game."

Alistair couldn't help but stare. "Poor bastard. He looks as if he hasn't had anything to eat or drink for days," he sighed sympathetically. He drew out a piece of bread from his pocket and handed it to the prisoner. "Here, I haven't bitten from it y—"

The templar shooed his hand away. "Don't touch me, stay away!" he snapped. "Filthy blood mages…getting in my head…I will not break. I'd rather die."

"You're not going to die, so long as you quit yelling and snapping at people," Cousland assured him halfheartedly.

"Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say. Now be gone!" the templar hissed, finally rising from the floor with a vicious glare. He closed his eyes. Despite his earlier words, Cousland didn't budge, and instead waited for the templar to reopen his eyes. When he did, he became desperate. "Still here? But that always worked before! I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them."

"Really? I wonder why. Usually I become invisible when people close their eyes and open them again," Cousland joked dryly. "Look, I'm real, and I'm here to help you. So calm down."

Albeit less frantic now, the templar still seemed suspicious. "Don't blame me for being cautious. The voices…the images…so real…" he trailed off with a shudder. "Did Greagoir send you? How…how did you get here?"

Cousland remained indignant. "I used my legs," he replied snippily. Alistair nudged him disapprovingly. Cousland frowned at him over his shoulder, but said nothing further.

"We're Grey Wardens, and we're trying to help save the tower," Alistair answered more seriously.

"Good… Kill Uldred. Kill them all for what they've done!" the templar snapped angrily. Cousland raised both eyebrows at him, shocked. "They caged us like animals…looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left… They turned some into…monsters. And…there was nothing I could do."

Despite his shock, Cousland didn't want to upset him any more. He skipped over the topic. "Where are Irving and the other mages?" he pressed.

"What others? What are you talking about?" the templar questioned impatiently, peering at him again.

Wynne approached him more calmly. "Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred. Where are they?" she explained.

He looked at the elder mage to address her. "There are in the Harrowing Chamber," he answered solemnly. "The sounds coming out from there…oh, Maker…"

She nodded grimly. "We must hurry. They are in grave danger, I am sure of it," she said to the two Wardens.

"Alright, let's go," Cousland agreed, already heading up the stairs.

The templar stopped him, screeching, "You can't save them! You don't know what they've become."

Annoyed by the prisoner's constant shouting, the noble stopped in his tracks and spared the man a disdainful look. "And you do?"

"They've been surrounded by blood mages whose wicked fingers sneak into your mind and corrupt your thoughts! You have to end it now, before it's too late!" the templar begged, voice cracking with fear.

Cousland crossed his arms. "What do _you_ propose we do, then?" he asked tonelessly.

"To ensure this horror is ended…to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there," the templar responded.

The noble's mouth nearly dropped open. "W… Everyone…?" he echoed, caught off guard yet again. He gulped. "I can't decide on something like that before seeing what's going on. It's too rash."

He sighed edgily. "That is your choice to make, but I beg you to consider what I have to say," he implored him. "You cannot tell maleficarum by sight. Just one could influence the mind of a king, of a grand cleric!"

Cousland studied the hysterical man for a moment, thoughtfully. "…I've made my decision," he said quietly. He resumed his ascension up the stairs.

Alistair and Wynne soon followed, leaving the crazed templar to mutter behind their backs, "Maker turn His gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn't doomed us all."

Alistair looked up at Cousland, wondering what made him so solemn all of a sudden. Just when he was about to ask, Cousland turned and spun his finger around his ear, rolling his eyes in the crazed templar's direction. Alistair snorted at the motion, despite himself.

**-Loading…**

Cousland was horrible with multitasking. His brother was always better than him at this; he could probably balance three textbooks on his head while playing the flute and teaching a ballroom dancing class. The younger Cousland, however, could barely read a book for ten straight minutes without becoming distracted by something else. With this fact in mind, he wondered just why he was automatically the one stuck with 'Litany duty'.

Wynne shouted at him to use the Litany once more, causing him to nearly rip the document as he drew it from his pocket. He struggled to read the chant, especially stumbling over the longer, more complicated words as he slashed blindly at a nearby abomination. "…Is this even a word?" Cousland complained loudly, squinting at the piece of paper.

"Just shut up and read!" Alistair snapped back, fending off one of the other abominations as well.

Cousland restarted his chant, still swinging at the creature in front of him. The abomination was attempting to dodge his sword and grab at him, but continued being slashed across the chest. Bleeding scars caused by the random swinging continued to detriment its health, until it finally gave in and fell to the ground, slain. He still continued his slashing, however, oblivious to his timely victory. The nearby Alistair held up a shield against the noble's sword, causing him to look up from the Litany and at his comrade.

He blinked confusedly. "What happened to the abomination?" he inquired. He frowned at the dead cretin on the floor. "Did you kill one of my targets again? You're such an abomination hog!"

"Am I, now? Fine, see if I help you when an enemy creeps up behind you!"

Before Cousland could comment on that, a sudden explosion erupted from Uldred's monstrous form, knocking everyone to the floor. Cousland's vision became blurred, though he could still manage out a blob that looked like Alistair next to him. "Hey, Al, are you alright?" he asked gravely, reaching for what he assumed was his comrade's shoulder.

"Ugh…sure, right as rain," he groaned in response.

Cousland blinked his vision back to normal and hoisted himself up. "Good. Take this," he instructed as he shoved the Litany towards him. He ran off before Alistair could object, sword held tightly in hand as he charged towards the last enemy standing.

"Wait, Jack! Y-you can't leave me with this! What if I mess up?" Alistair shouted frantically. He struggled to get up. Suddenly, a familiar swirl of light surrounded one of the mages, marking his cue. "Shit! Waitwaitwait…!" Alistair sat up and quickly read off the chant, mentally cursing his comrade in arms.

Meanwhile, said comrade struggled to hack through Uldred's new form. His skin was thick and hard to cut through, though he persisted and continued forcing his sword through. Uldred, however, constantly knocked the Warden down with swift, easy swipes. He was laughing at the man struggling to recover, voice dark and inhuman as his chuckles echoed throughout the room. Cousland tried not to shudder at the sound. Ignoring his developing bruises and open cuts, the noble rose from the floor yet again and drew his shield in front of him, hoping it would prevent him from being knocked down. It didn't.

Wynne promptly cast a healing spell on Cousland and waved her staff at the monster Uldred had become, sending lightning bolts towards his chest. He visibly stiffened at the attack, which Cousland took as a signal to strike. Shouting a battle cry at the demonic creature, with his sword held high above his head, Cousland took one last blow at Uldred's leg. The sword barely made it through half of his limb, though it seemed to hurt enough for him to roar in pain. Uldred attempted a reckless swipe at the Warden, but was deterred by Wynne's magic once again as she encased him in wintry ice. Cousland focused all his strength on the grip his hands had on the hilt of his sword, eyes shut tight and teeth gritted in concentration. Slowly, he began to push the blade through the rest of Uldred's leg. Dark crimson seeped through the wound he was creating, almost resembling a reddish black.

Finally, once the ice wore off and the entirety of the blade was inside Uldred's leg, the beast emitted one last earthshaking roar, stunning the others with its deafening volume and proximity. Defeated, the demon collapsed onto the floor, taking Cousland's blade with it. He remained clinging onto the hilt of the sword as if it were a lifeline, and was brought to his knees after Uldred was slain. The moments after his defeat were filled with the sound of Alistair, Cousland, and Wynne each trying to catch their breath.

Cousland was the first to speak. "Well," he breathed before taking a thirsty gulp. "Now that that's over with…"

Alistair picked himself up off the floor and ventured on towards Cousland, who was still knelt on the ground with the hilt of his sword in both hands. "You did well, Jack. Nice job," he complimented his fellow Warden with a complimentary pat on the back.

He grunted at the contact, still sore from battle. "Thanks. I, uh…" he coughed, taking a moment to force his sword out of Uldred's leg. The weapon didn't budge. He sighed tiredly at the blade, exhausted. "Figures."

The senior Warden rolled his eyes at him. "You're such a wimp. Here, let me help," Alistair volunteered. Wrapping his arms around Cousland's waist, he proceeded to pull him with all his remaining strength. "…Maker's breath! It won't even budge!"

Although he was far from comfortable with the way Alistair had his arms wrapped around him—and even less comfortable with how he was breathing _right next to his ear_—Cousland refused to let it show. Clearing his throat as subtly as possible, the noble attempted to draw his sword from the beast's leg once more. "This is ridiculous! It was my family's sword, too…" he grumbled, scowling at the immovable blade.

"Well, next time, don't stick the family sword in something when you don't know if you can get it back out," Alistair chided before pulling once again.

Cousland looked at Alistair over his shoulder. "What would you rather I use it for? Cutting cheese?" he joked sarcastically. His lack of a response threw him off a bit. "Er…what is it?"

Alistair just stared. "You look red, are you alright there?"

Cousland opened his mouth to respond when his pulling finally paid off. Sword still gripped in both of his hands, Cousland fell backwards, bringing Alistair down with him. The two men groaned in pain moments after, completely forgetting their earlier conversation. Cousland let out a laugh in relief, both for retrieving his sword and the distraction it built. "Finally! I was afraid that I'd…" He paused. "…Great. Just…just _great_."

All that was left of the sword was the hilt.


	7. Loyalty

"_There was no word_  
_For heaven or for earth, for sea or__** sky**_  
_All that existed was silence_  
_Then the Voice of the Maker rang out_  
_The first Word_  
_And His Word became all that might be"_  
_—Threnodies 5:1–8_

By the time they arrived, everyone was already asleep, save for Leliana. She had been keeping watch for intruders and, after a stern talking-to about leaving important notices under dogs, left them to take up the night watch as she retired to her tent. Cousland didn't have the energy to try and insist that she stay up with them.

"I think we should go to Orzammar next."

"…Because?"

"Hey, don't make me go through the whole 'do you have something against dwarves?' shtick again."

"Fine. We're going to find the Dalish, then."

Cousland failed another pout. "Look, I have my reasons, but I'm sort of busy looking for my flask," he defended.

Alistair barely glanced over the area. "Can't you go five seconds without your stupid alcohol? We're talking about more important things now," he complained.

An infamous grin. "Aw, is 'poow Awistaw' upset because I'm not paying enough attention to him?" Cousland mocked, still crouched over as he searched for his dear flask of strong beer.

Irritated, Alistair caught the noble's wrist and forced it upward, causing him to straighten. "Yes," he said curtly.

Cousland wore an odd expression. Alistair could've sworn he was holding his breath. "Alright then," he breathed out finally, covering his anxiety up with a wholehearted chuckle. When the hand on his wrist withdrew, he let his hand fall back into his lap. "Fine. You want to know why I've been egging you on about Orzammar? It's the beer. I want to visit the dwarven city of Orzammar because they have bloody brilliant beer. Are you happy now?"

"And completely unsurprised, yes," Alistair answered. "Also, I hear their beer is piss-awful."

"Blasphemy, lies. Complete lies."

Alistair laughed. "Believe what you will."

Something about the way he smiled was disarming. Cousland allowed himself to relax, the tension in his shoulders releasing all at once. It was a relief to be able to talk so calmly and casually after having to put on a show of honorable killings and reassuring smiles the entire day. He had felt as if he were back in Castle Cousland again, putting on airs and playing the fool to impress his father's guests. If Alistair hadn't been with him that day, playing along with his jokes and letting him poke fun at inappropriate times, Cousland was almost positive he would've gone insane in that tower. He wondered if it was the same for the other Warden, despite not having the pressure of being the party's leader. He wondered if they were both just using each other to blow off steam. But, then again, perhaps that was what friends were for.

Alistair must've been telling him something, because there was an impatient hand waving in front of his face, followed by, "Aaaand you're not listening anymore, are you?"

"Nope," Cousland quipped, not looking at him. "Maker, you're boring."

"This coming from the man who can barely read a book for ten minutes straight without becoming distracted by something else," Alistair countered.

Cousland just stared at him for a moment. "I told you that joke already…? Really? Hm, this was a fast week," he mused.

Alistair hummed uninterestedly in response and propped his elbows up on his knees, staring into the fire. "Do you think Orzammar has good cheese?" he changed the subject.

"If it makes you agree to go there next, then yes, the cheese is _delicious_," Cousland answered. He reached over once more to grope around for his flask, this time immediately finding and grasping the lost object. Smiling triumphantly, Cousland brought it up to his lips for a victory sip.

Alistair yawned slightly. "You know what? I don't care where we go next. We could go all the way to Orzammar and back as long as we bring the rest of the party," he bargained, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.

His proposition didn't seem to sit well with Cousland. "_All_ of them…? Look, Al, I understand that after today you want to be extra careful, but… If dear Leliana sees me in my drunken state, I doubt she'll ever look at me the same way again," he protested.

"Honestly, I doubt Leliana will think any less of you even if you go streaking through the streets of Denerim," Alistair assured him with a chuckle. The noble's eyes brightened. "…What, are you actually _planning_ to do this or something?"

Cousland rolled his eyes, a silent 'no, of course not'. He paused. "…Although there was that one time in Highever," he murmured to himself musingly, lowering his voice to conceal this memory from his comrade.

Despite his lowered volume, however, Alistair still heard him and cringed in disgust. "Ew. Okay. I did not need to know that," he groaned, becoming plagued with mental images forming vividly against his will.

His repulsion went ignored. "So I was thinking, perhaps I should present Morrigan with the remarkable gems instead. She'd be more likely to enjoy them, don't you think?" Cousland mused.

"I'm not sure any woman would enjoy shiny pieces of rock, to be quite honest," Alistair replied. "I'd save it for someone else, if I were you."

Cousland frowned. "Oh, but…but then I've no gifts for Morrigan except some ratty old tome," he protested, shaking his flask at Alistair to emphasize the word 'ratty.'

That's when it dawned on him. "Wait a minute—you…and Morrigan? Seriously?" Alistair bellowed in horror. "Wh-?" Cousland quickly silenced the loud blond with his newly recovered flask, slamming it into his face and covering his mouth. He shouted shortly in pain upon impact, already feeling a bruise forming where the cold material of the container pressed against his skin.

Leliana poked her head out of her tent. "Alistair, what are you yelling about? Who and Morrigan?" she questioned in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb their fellow travelers' slumber.

Cousland waved her off with a casual smile. "My apologies for waking you, dear Leliana. Alistair here has been tapping into the flask alcohol again. He can't quite handle it well, yet, I'm afraid. Would you like me to help you get back to sleep? I could tell you a bedtime story about the time I went streaking in Highever," he offered. Alistair rolled his eyes.

A trace of panic overcame her features. "Ooh, well, that sounds…_quite_ charming, but I'll have to pass. Goodnight," she declined earnestly. With that, she retreated back into her tent.

Upon withdrawing the flask from his comrade's face, Cousland earned a well-deserved smack in the head. "Hey, it's your fault for getting loud," he defended as he swatted Alistair away.

"I don't know you anymore," Alistair sighed, shaking his head.

The noble rested the palms of his hands on the back rim of the stump as he leaned back and grinned at his fellow Warden. "Relax. I'm still the same immature spoiled drunkard you dread traveling with," he laughed, waving his hand at him reassuringly.

Alistair also rested his hands on the rim of his own stump, though he planted his hands in the front rather than the back and leaned forward. "I just don't want her manipulating you into doing something stupid. You're our leader, and if you end up becoming Miss Swamp Witch's lackey, _she _may as well be our leader, and Maker knows how horrible that could be," he shuddered.

Cousland shrugged. "That won't happen. Have a little faith," he spoke simply.

"…Right," Alistair agreed halfheartedly. He straightened and stood from his stump. "I'm retiring to my tent for the day. Goodnight."

Saluting clumsily at his fellow Warden, Cousland sprouted a small smile. "G'night. Try not to trip over one of your sacrificial statuettes on the way in," he joked lightly. Alistair acknowledged the joke with a short laugh before officially retiring for the night, disappearing behind the tent folds.

Remaining unmoved from his leaning position, Cousland yawned and raised his eyes toward the sky. Stars outnumbered yet never outshined the moon, whose pale light lit the campgrounds it overlooked. It was oddly larger than he had thought it to be, or had the size of the moon been different in Highever as well? He squinted at it curiously, lifting a hand to span across the width of it. His palm wasn't large enough to cover it completely, however, and he closed his fist, as if trying to crush the moon in his hand.

He spent the rest of the night like that, trying to cover the moon with his hand.

**-Loading…**

Wynne hadn't been camping before. In fact, she had never been outside of the Circle Tower, except when she was a little girl. But, even as a child undiscovered by the Circle, she had never traveled too far into the wilderness. Of course, it wasn't her place to complain; she was a guest, a follower of Jack's, and she would be a polite one at that. Besides, camping outside would save them the trouble of wasting money on an inn. There were too many of them to fit in any of the small inns around Lake Calenhad, and even if there was room, it would be too expensive. They needed to spend those funds on more important things like injury kits and poultices.

This didn't, however, obligate her to tolerate the soil-caked yellow-stained sock she found in her bedroll that morning.

"Alistair," she said sternly, approaching him as he finished his breakfast. "What's this?"

Cheese was smeared at the corners of his mouth when he looked up to identify the item in question. Unflinching as the mucky object neared his face, he shrugged. "It's a sock?" he answered slowly, wondering if this was supposed to be a trick question.

She wagged it around for emphasis. "It's a _filthy_ sock," she corrected. "How did it find its way to _my_ bedroll?"

After taking a quick bite out of Leliana's cheese 'oam-lit'—or whatever the strange dish was called—he shrugged again. "Maybe it likes you? Socks are sneaky like that," he suggested drolly. Suddenly realizing her anger, he hastily added, "Anyway, it's not mine."

"What's not yours?" Cousland chimed into the conversation, taking a seat next to the blond Warden. He stole a piece of Alistair's meal and popped it into his mouth.

Unfazed by the theft, Alistair motioned towards the sock in Wynne's hand. "That," he replied simply.

Cousland chewed thoughtfully for a moment, staring at the sock while processing the foreign food's taste. "It _looks_ like yours," he commented. He pointed a gloved finger at a stain on the material. "Look, it's still stained with blood from that one time you cut your toe on your sword."

Alistair promptly elbowed him in the stomach while the mage took a moment to peek inside the dirty sock. "It has your name stitched on it," she noted accusingly.

Cousland's stare switched to Alistair, who was now blushing brightly. The senior Warden quickly covered it up with a nervous laugh. "Oh, ha-ha…ah… Part of templar training, back at the Chantry. The men were…uh, always getting their socks mixed up," he fibbed quickly, flashing a smile. Wynne and Cousland exchanged unconvinced glances. "A-anyway, uh, sorry about that. I'll take it from you right now; one of my socks is feeling a little damp anyway. A change would be nice."

Wynne's mouth dropped open slightly as he gently took it into his own hand. "You're going to put it on? It's filthy!" she exclaimed, horrified.

"And _dry_! We're not exactly traveling in the lap of luxury, here," he laughed shortly. He leaned over to remove his left boot.

Before he could even slip the article of clothing on, she shuddered at the thought. "What hideous habits you have picked up…" she sighed, speeding away from the scene.

The moister sock clung to his skin with dirt and what felt like dog slobber as Alistair slid it off his foot. He cringed at the sensation briefly before tossing it to the side, fortunately not hitting anyone or anything in the process. "So, it's decided then? We're going to Orzammar and all its beery wonder?" he inquired. No response. "Jack?" Not even a grunt. Alistair turned towards his fellow Warden, who was now staring at the apostate gorging herself with food. If she noticed him, she didn't acknowledge him, instead distracting herself with her meal.

It took a forceful shove in the arm to catch Cousland's attention. He nearly fell off, but instinctively shot a hand out to the rim of the stump to keep his balance. "Geez, okay! I'm listening!" Cousland hissed, returning the shove.

Alistair rolled his eyes at the noble. "Drooling over the wicked witch of the wilds, I see," he noticed, narrowing a glare at Morrigan. She took a moment to sneer in response, food caught between her teeth as she bore them at him. He simply stuck his tongue out at her.

Cousland shrugged indifferently, unaffected by their silent argument, and leaned over to grab a plate of Leliana's egg breakfast. "You really don't like each other, do you?" he mused before taking a bite.

He continued his glaring at Morrigan, even as he responded, "Well aside from the fact that she's a complete and utter _bitch_… No, I don't like her at all. And you shouldn't, either."

The last part went ignored. "I think she's beautiful…don't you?" Cousland sighed, also staring at Morrigan, albeit with a softer expression. She pretended not to notice yet again and shoved a plate towards the Orlesian cook, demanding more food.

Alistair harrumphed, his glare intensifying. "Sure, beautiful just like…like something that's also dangerous, like a…beautiful…dangerous thing!" he spat, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis. Morrigan snorted at him quietly, hiding her smirk by pretending to wipe her mouth.

Cousland gulped down his food. "You have quite the way with words, as always," he quipped.

His sarcasm earned a chuckle out of the senior Warden, despite himself. "Oh, I give up. Do what you want," he conceded, shaking his head. A smile remained evident on his features.

"And so I shall," Cousland nodded, his own smile becoming triumphant. Behind him, Morrigan stuck a finger down her throat and mock-gagged at the two Wardens, scrunching her face in disgust. Alistair attempted to ignore her this time, instead opting to steal back a piece of Cousland's own meal. Cousland wasn't as open-minded about this, however. "Hey! That's _my_ weird egg-cheese thingy!"

Leliana grabbed the piece dangling above Alistair's open mouth and placed it back on Cousland's plate. "Omelet, Ser Cousland. It's called an omelet," she corrected gently as she withdrew her hand.

Whatever it was called, the subject moved to the back of his mind the second Leliana crossed his line of vision. "Good morning, dearest Leliana. Did you sleep well? Did you have any dreams-?" He was cut off.

"About you? No, I'm afraid not," she cut in with a giggle. Just seeing her smile had Cousland melting in his seat, muscles becoming slack and eyes glassing over with admiration. Alistair rolled his eyes, unwilling to deal with the love-struck noble a second time. He stood, not even bothering to announce his departure to gather his things, and left the two to their flirt-and-reject routine.


	8. Frustration

"_Yup, the waiting around part is…awesome."  
-Alistair_

It had been three weeks since they left for Orzammar, and they still weren't there. They weren't even _almost _there.

Before reaching the doors to the underground city, they would have to go through Gherlen's Pass and the Frostback Mountains. They had gone through neither, and it was becoming more and more evident that they were lost. The road they traveled that day looked the same as it did the day before, as it did the _week _before—even as it did when they first left camp. Yet it didn't seem like they were walking in circles. No landmarks repeated themselves twice, no one rock formation seen again. They were definitely moving forward, but their surroundings made it impossible to know where toward.

Cousland took a much-needed sip from his flask, afterwards peering into the object carefully. "Blast and damnation," he cursed, closing the flask and returning it to his backpack. "I'm starting to run out of beer."

Alistair was studying the map as he commented absently, "Didn't you say you were going to refill it at one of the taverns in Orzammar?"

The noble sighed, crossing his arms and pouting his usual pout. "I was, but it's not like we're getting there anytime soon. We've still yet to go through Gherlen's Pass, and Maker knows we're nowhere near there now," he said dismally.

His fellow Warden shrugged, still not looking at him. "Then quit whining and help me figure out where we are. Orzammar isn't going to just suddenly appear out of nowhere because you're complaining about your beer shortage," he scolded.

"Just because my whining is virtually useless, doesn't mean I'm banned from doing it," Cousland defended firmly. Regardless, he took out his compass and lifted it towards the sky, hoping it would make it easier to follow. As expected, it didn't.

A noise up ahead of the group caught the Wardens' attention. Both glanced up from their respective navigating objects, finding a lone elf wandering down the opposite way. He strayed to one side of the path, near a more forested area. Judging by his meek appearance and ragged clothing, they could easily tell that he was a servant, though it was odd that his master was nowhere nearby. He was looking for something, most likely something belonging to his master, and from the panicked expression on his face, it didn't seem like he was going to find it anytime soon. He seemed lost, maybe even more lost than they were, though that seemed to be an impossible feat at that point.

Regardless, he must have been from around that area; otherwise he would've turned back and reported the loss to his master already. Cousland took this opportunity to signal the rest of the party to stop, deciding to ask for directions. "Hey, you!" he shouted, walking towards him. His loud voice made the stranger nearly jump out of his skin.

The elf remained absolutely still, barely even breathing until the noble was near. "I was won—" He was cut off.

"P-please don't hurt me! I-I-I was just l-looking for something! I-I wasn't…wasn't bothering anyone, was I…?" the elf pleaded, shrinking back away from Cousland.

"Calm down, man. We just wanted to ask for directions," Cousland soothed.

"I-I've got to go. I'm expected back soon," the elf insisted.

Though he seemed ready to argue, the noble instead sighed, discouraged. "Alright, fine, but could you at least tell us where your master is? We need to ask for directions," he tried. He was only answered with a quick shake of the head before the elf sprinted away, past the rest of the group and out of sight.

Alistair whistled at the elf's speed. "Quite the runner, that guy is," he remarked with a chuckle.

"They usually are, aren't they?" Cousland mused. "And timid at that."

"Oh, trust me, they aren't all that timid around other elves. They can even get rather mean, especially if it's the Dalish versus the city elves," Alistair observed.

Cousland raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? You'd think they'd be at least a little friendlier, considering the amount of animosity they get from humans already," he commented.

"Well we humans aren't exactly well-liked by other races either, and we still have enough time to be at each other's throats," Alistair argued with a shrug.

He scratched his head unsurely, turning back to his fellow Warden. "Sure, that may be true, but we don't have separate _sections_ or whatever. The elves are divided into Dalish elves and city elves; humans are just humans," he insisted.

"No, humans have their sections, too. I suppose a nobleman like you wouldn't realize it, but Ferelden's humans are split into sections based on their rank. You probably never realized this, since nobles don't really socialize with classes beneath them."

A light, humiliated blush crossed the noble's features. He was aware of the social classes in human society, of course, but nobles didn't like to speak about 'unpleasant' things like that unless they were bragging about their own rank. He had always been too easily embarrassed by his noble blood, and it bothered him that it still affected him after what happened at Highever. In fact, he should have been prouder of his name, since he was the only one left…as far as he knew, at least.

"...He came from that direction, right? His master's probably up ahead. Let's go," Cousland said finally, changing the subject. Alistair said nothing and merely shrugged, afterwards signaling the rest of the party to follow.

**-Loading…**

By the time the party came across another living being, the midday sun was high in the sky, adding a sense of heated exhaustion to their hunger. Cousland was sweating inside his armor, and had bought a fan from Bodahn, but had ended up handing it over to Morrigan upon hearing her exhausted lament. Then he had had to buy _another_ one for Leliana, so he wouldn't sound like he was favoring either of them. This had left him ninety-eight silver poorer, and he had resolved to stop giving the ladies presents…in front of each other, at least.

Cousland approached the one man standing in the clearing ahead of them. The others followed closely behind, filing into the open space to set up a temporary campsite. Bodahn's wagon sat between the dead end and its exit, and an alluring smell from inside indicated a certain Orlesian redhead cooking inside it.

Cousland approached the surprised stranger with an apologetic grin. "My apologies, ser, but we need a place to stop and rest for a bit. Would you mind terribly if we stayed here for lunch?" he inquired. The stranger was staring at the others set up their respective spots, realizing that he hadn't much of a choice in the matter as it was. Cousland coughed in an attempt to catch his attention. "You don't have to worry. We'll leave as soon as our stomachs are full, I swear. You could have lunch with us, too, if you want."

The stranger shook his head courteously as he addressed Cousland fully. "You'll have to forgive me if I seem a bit nervous. Not many people traveling in this part of Ferelden," he spoke wearily, as if the fact itself tired him. Cousland was about to ask when he continued, "Of course that's part of my problem, isn't it? Mule got spooked by a wisp and ran off into the woods. Now what do I do?"

He arched an eyebrow at the stranger. "…Are you asking me to find your mule?" he asked, unsure if he should be taking offense.

It took some effort to restrain an amused grin when the stranger's eyes bulged, panicked. "Oh, no, no, no—I sent the _elf_ to do that! I wouldn't _dream_ of asking a stranger to do it," he laughed.

Cousland chuckled politely in response. "So that was your elf, hm? We met him on the way here. Quite the shaky fellow, if you ask me. But I suppose most of them come like that these days," he recalled, his noble conversation skills kicking in. He could almost taste the fakeness of his words strong on his tongue, and the familiarity of it all brought him back to his days in Castle Cousland.

The stranger smiled, appearing more relaxed and at ease. "Allow me to introduce myself: Felix de Grosbois, merchant and entrepreneur, at your service," he said with a slight bow, his comfortable smile transitioning into a proud grin.

Cousland mirrored the action. "I am Jack. Pleased to meet you," he said simply. His surname was on the tip of his tongue, but was immediately swallowed down. Being an outlawed Grey Warden was bad enough; he didn't need to have the title of 'Last of His Line' hanging over his head as well.

Both men stood in silence for a moment, contemplating what to say to prod the conversation along as they watched Cousland's party settle in. Felix spoke first. "I don't normally take this route, but with the war, I was hoping for a bit of luck and good weather in the mountains. Sadly, I've had neither," he sighed, huffing shortly. "This trip has been one miserable disaster after another."

"Oh, you're telling me," Cousland whistled, flashing back on his own misadventures.

Felix eyed the noble hopefully. "I don't suppose you'd…consider helping a fellow out?" he asked.

His ambiguous statement made Cousland wary. "Help a fellow out…how?" he asked back slowly.

He hid the hopeful glint in his eyes with his aggravation as he recapitulated his story. "Of all the other things that went wrong, the worst is this artifact I bought," he began, pulling out a strange, jewel-type object. "It's a 'control rod', I'm told, for a golem. No point in me keeping it, however, as I'll never get to use it. But uh…maybe you could?"

Cousland crossed his arms, skeptic. "What's the catch?" he questioned, staring Felix down cautiously.

The merchant's eyebrows rose. "The _catch_…?" Felix echoed, as if the word itself was ridiculous. He paused for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. "Yeah… I uh, suppose it is a catch, isn't it?" He waited for Cousland to prod further, but was only answered with expectant silence. "The catch…is that the golem didn't come with the rod. It's supposed to be down in a village down south, waiting to be activated."

"Which you can't do, since you're…" Cousland trailed off, motioning towards his caravan without its mule.

Felix nodded ruefully. "Even if I could get down there—which I_ can't_—I understand the place has been overrun by darkspawn," he continued. Cousland kept his mouth shut; it seemed a lot of villages were being overrun by darkspawn in those days. Felix smiled suddenly. "That's not such an issue for adventurous types like yourself, surely! Or I'm hoping that's so, at least."

A slow, understanding nod. Cousland continued his questions, becoming curious. "What does a control rod do?" he inquired.

"The dwarf I bought it from said it activates and controls a golem," Felix answered. He reached it out to Cousland for him to see more closely. "So long as you have it in your hand, the golem does what you say. Might be useful, no? I mean, you look like the sort that could use one, yes?" Felix said with a grin that Cousland couldn't help but return. He could almost feel his ego swelling massively as he conjured images of a mighty stone golem at his side into his head, drifting from the conversation. "Uh, ser?"

He snapped out of his reverie. "Just Jack," he corrected automatically. "So, uh…how much do you want for it?"

Felix sighed, shaking his head. "_Nothing_. I just don't want to have to lug around something that might be taken for a gemstone by some bandit," he replied. Cousland somehow got the notion that something like that had happened before. "To be honest, I don't even know if it'll be useful to you. I paid too much to simply throw it away."

At least he was honest. Cousland nodded at the merchant confidently. "Yes, I think I could use it," he agreed finally.

"Just as well," Felix said, though the meaning behind his words seemed vague. "As I mentioned before, you'll find the golem down south, in a town called Honnleath." He motioned toward the map in Cousland's hand. "I'll mark it here on your map."

Wordlessly, Cousland handed him his map and waited, whistling patiently as he did.

Felix handed his map back to him, as well as his new control rod, and resumed the conversation. "Just hold up the rod and say 'dulef gar'. That will wake the golem up, so I'm told… Hope it works," he instructed.

Cousland examined the rod as he responded vacantly, "If not, I'll be back."

"I, well, uh… Oh," Felix gulped with a nervous smile. "Then I _really_ hope it works."

The noble returned a fake smile. "You better," he laughed.

An awkward pause. "Best of luck to you, then," Felix said hastily. "Now, I guess it's up to me to find that mule myself…" Heaving one last sigh, the merchant left, sliding through the cracks between Bodahn's wagon and a rock formation to leave the area.

Leliana poked her head out of Bodahn's wagon, inhaling a breath of fresh air and unleashing the strong smell of food from inside. Cousland was quick to notice her, and smiled a silent greeting to her. She smiled politely in return, although she looked ready to withdraw back into the wagon. "O-oh, hello Ser Cousland. Is there something you need?" she inquired, fake smile never leaving her face.

He shrugged. "Nothing at all, dearest Leliana. I was just wondering how the food was coming along," he replied graciously.

She peeked back into the wagon for a moment before turning back to her leader. "Um, it's not ready yet. I think I'm missing a few ingredients," she answered, a troubled frown dampening her features.

A hungry growl from the noble's stomach protested. He shot a hand to it, attempting to silence its complaints. "Alistair and I could go gather some for you, if you'd like," he volunteered, ignoring an abrupt 'you're not making me come with you, Jack' in the background.

Leliana briefly acknowledged Alistair's objection with a giggle. "Oh, you don't have to do that, Ser Cousland. I already asked Morrigan to come hunting with me, anyway," she insisted.

He snorted. "Two women _hunting_? Ha, that's just…!" He stopped before he could go too far, though the offended stare he was getting from Leliana proved he might have gone too far already. He reworded himself, "We could join you."

Neither of them bothered to recognize the sardonic 'nice save' that followed, once again in the background. Leliana was studying him, contemplating whether or not to reject him for his almost-insult. She smiled. "Okay, sure!" she chimed. Cousland heaved a sigh of relief. "Just try to keep up, alright?"

Cousland barely had time to respond before the flaps of the wagon smacked him in the face.

**-Loading…**

Upon wrapping the gauze around Alistair's arm completely, Cousland withdrew, satisfied with his work. "There, all done," he announced triumphantly. A corner of his mouth twitched a little higher than the other as he sniggered. "Can't believe you got shot in the arm by a_ girl_."

"Your concern is heartwarming, really," Alistair spat sarcastically, simultaneously testing his sore arm. He winced slightly, stretching it too far, and let it fall to his side.

Cousland merely grinned in response and put the injury kit away, into the only backpack they had brought. "Hey, I'm the one that tried to push you out of the way. Don't I deserve a bit of thanks?" he disputed, wagging a finger at him.

Gently guiding his accusing finger away, Alistair sighed. "You're right, sorry," he admitted. He offered a bit of a half-smile. "Thanks, Jack."

The grin fell. "I…" Cousland trailed off. He hadn't expected his friend to take him seriously, and now that he had, it was almost embarrassing. He scratched his head awkwardly with a sheepish grin. "I-I was only _kidding_, Alistair."

Alistair shrugged. "I know. I just wanted to say thanks anyway. No need to get so flustered over it," he said indifferently.

He opened his mouth to defend himself, but decided against it, lest he say make the situation any worse. "Let's just keep going. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you get to have your bloody cheese lunch," he sighed, motioning them forward.

"Well, that would be unpleasant. A bloody lunch, I mean; a cheese lunch would be _delicious_," Alistair commented as they continued down the road.

The two women suddenly stopped walking, looking somewhere to their left. "Uh… Why are we stopping?" Cousland questioned. Leliana met his concerned stare briefly, seeming ready to say something, when her answer came running up to them.

It was a pale, breathless woman with unkempt hair and a desperate glint in her eyes. "Oh, thank the Maker. We need help!" she breathed. Cousland attempted to ask her what had happened, but was cut off. "They attacked the wagon! Please, help us!" Cousland and Alistair exchanged solemn glances. "Follow me; I'll take you to them!" She ran off.

The Wardens followed wordlessly, not noticing that Leliana remained frozen in her spot as she stared strangely at something to her left. Morrigan realized this, however, and stopped to address her. "What on earth are you doing?" she questioned the Orlesian.

Leliana continued studying something in the distance, not answering her question. It was a tall, moss-spotted log, leaning over the edge of a nearby cliff. The log seemed…misplaced, and the way it towered over the area below was ominous and disturbing. "Come on, then!" Morrigan exclaimed, becoming impatient.

"There's something wrong here," she said finally, now glaring at the log and the possible trouble it resembled. Morrigan just scowled, annoyed by her vague answer. Growing too edgy to wait any longer, the apostate resumed following the two Wardens, hoping she could catch up with them soon.

Up ahead, a male elf emerged from the abandoned wagon. He wore a mysterious smirk, giving off the vibe that he knew something they did not. Cousland peered at him, unsure of how to react to this stranger. "W…who are…?" he stuttered.

The elf's smirk widened a fraction of an inch as he signaled the rest of the ambush in.

What seemed like thousands of rogues dressed in uniform leather armor came in from the sides, armed with a wide assortment of bows and arrows. Even more rogues flooded in down from the right, carrying swords and daggers that were still fresh with blood. The not-so-innocent bystander sported her own wicked grin as her hands began to swell and glow brightly with potent magic.

Confusion took over the noble's mind, but was abruptly replaced with an instinctive panic as a moss-spotted log began falling from above. Alistair shouted something at him, most likely telling him to move out of the way. Albeit stricken with a baffling bewilderment and horror, Cousland somehow managed to comply, and leaped forward to avoid being crushed. He landed on his chin and subsequently bit his tongue. The metallic taste of blood stained his mouth, causing him to curse beneath his breath. An irritatingly mocking laugh caught his attention as the strange elf drew his own weapons from their respective sheaths.

"The Grey Wardens die here!"


	9. Doubt

"_The Crows send their regards."  
-Zevran Arainai_

It was pure chaos.

Arrows rained down on them from above, some flaming and some coated with poison. Their mage was merciless, spewing blue bolts of crackling lightning at them at top speed. Enemy blades flew at them from all angles, and the sound of them clashing together rang so loudly and frequently that Cousland was sure he was going deaf from the sound. Both of them had to take several on at a time just to survive, each blocking attacks with such regularity that it became dizzying. Enemies surrounded them in a giant circle, forcing them back to back. They shouted helpful tips to each other, ducking at the appropriate times and taking out each other's opponents to ease the work load for the other. It had been like this at Ostagar, back in the Tower of Ishal, yet somehow that battle seemed much less hopeless than the one they fought with these strange leather-bound rogues.

Then again, something about this battle seemed far more…entertaining. Despite it all, Cousland couldn't help but allow a sick grin of violent fascination onto his features as he pushed against his enemies, gradually destroying the ring they had developed around them. His enemies were starting to become weary, making them that much easier to slay. Alistair, too, began hacking at the rogues with ease, though his features were less amused and more scrunched together in concentration. Eliciting an encouraged battle cry, the blond Warden swung an arc across three of his enemies, effectively causing a thick line of blood to appear on their stomachs. The crimson fluid sprayed at his face.

Cousland drew his sword against one of the duelists' faces, ignoring the horrified cry of his victim as he headed up a slope towards the archers. A sudden explosion triggered by a trap wire sent him tumbling backwards before he could reach them, and blinded him momentarily while the smoke cleared. He coughed as he swung blindly in the air, eyes clenched so tightly they began to water. The random swinging proved useless, especially against the handful of enemies proceeding to kick him while he was still down. His coughing worsened as the wind was blown out of him, and a sickening mixture of blood and vomit gathered in his throat. He kept it down with a painful swallow, denying it access out of his mouth by keeping it closed and focusing on breathing through his nose. Eventually, his sword hit what felt like a leg. Gritting his teeth together in concentration, Cousland tried to aim for another leg, this time slicing the limb clean off. One haunting scream later, the other enemies were scared off and backed away, leaving him a small amount of time to regain his composure.

Elsewhere, the two ladies had climbed atop the log that had trapped the two Wardens. Leliana hopped off to the other side immediately, readying her daggers as she sliced through two rogues simultaneously and headed directly for their mage. The enemy mage sent a lightning bolt towards Leliana, which was brushed off completely as the redhead dodged it. Scowling at her failed attempt, the mage tried for a winter spell, but missed and instead affected one of the dead animals bleeding on the ground. Leliana scoffed mockingly at the failed spell and finally reached the mage herself, stabbing her through the chest with one dagger before cutting her in two with the other.

Atop the moss-spotted log, Morrigan muttered curses between each spell, having just narrowly dodged five arrows already. She had managed to hit several of the rogues in the shoulder, but had caught too much attention from the archers and was faced with a myriad of arrows headed directly for her. Morrigan dodged a sixth one unevenly, a panicked gasp escaping her when she nearly fell over the edge and on her head. She caught herself at first, yet was caught off balance once more when another arrow aimed for her head. That's when she fell backwards and landed on the eerily warm, bloodied ground. Her own blood soon joined the stains in the earth as she laid there, temporarily paralyzed yet luckily hidden by the bush she had fallen behind. Beneath her, she could feel her staff, which was now probably broken in half. Her curses escalated in volume.

Leliana was onto the archers now, though the task was far too easy for her to enjoy it. They barely even noticed her there, blood-stained and armed, as they continued barraging both Morrigan and Alistair with arrows. She sliced through them smoothly, without a fight, and the peculiarity of it all almost made her giggle. The strangeness of that action was too much, however, even for her, and she instead fought the bubbling urge by shoving her dagger through an archer's heart and tossing him over the edge.

Finally, after obtaining a staff from one of the nearby corpses, Morrigan joined Cousland on the opposite side of the area, helping him finish off the very last of the archers. These rogues were far more skilled than the others, and came equipped with their own blades as well. Steel against steel rung out again, magic blasted against magic, and somehow it seemed even louder than the last set of ringing steel. Cousland's muscles burned tiredly, aching in a way he knew was going to hurt the next morning. Regardless, he willed himself to go on, ignoring the sweat stinging his eyes and the ever-familiar stench of fresh blood.

When the last enemy fell, Cousland nearly collapsed with him. He fell to his knees, hands still wrapped around the hilt of his sword as it slowly sunk deeper and deeper into the archer's corpse. It felt as if he was sinking along with it, especially as his body started to become limp against his own blade. Despite his fatigue, his vision was oddly vivid, and the worry laced within Alistair's features was jarringly clear as he ran up to him. "Hey, are you alright? You look pale," Alistair asked, kneeling beside him.

Cousland raised his head to offer a weak smile. "Don't worry about it. Just give me a moment to…rest up, or something," he assured him. Albeit hesitant, the blond nodded and left to check on the others. As he descended down the slope, he took a moment to glance over his shoulder, worry pooling in his eyes. Cousland sensed this, and raised one hand from the hilt of his sword to shoo the other Warden away. Finally, he left.

Then there was silence. Cousland allowed his eyelids to fall completely, taking a moment to block out the world and just listen to the sound of his rapid heartbeat gradually slow itself back to its normal rate. His father had always told him he got excited too easily, told him that he needed to be calmer and less loud. That was probably why he didn't get to join Fergus in battle and was instead left at home. He wasn't sure what he preferred anymore: being with Fergus and not being there on that fateful night in Highever, or being able to stay in Highever only to leave them in the end. Both options sounded equally painful, and he wondered if his brother had heard the news already. He wondered if his brother thought him dead. He wondered if his brother_ was_ dead.

But then his strength fully returned, Alistair was calling him down, and he couldn't hide behind the curtain of black his eyelids provided him anymore. Pushing back his morbid thoughts with the task at hand, Cousland straightened and stood, easily plucking his sword from the corpse beneath him as he walked back down.

They were all together now, crowded around the corpse of the mysterious elf that had seemingly set the whole thing up. Upon closer examination, Cousland noticed a bit of color in the rogue's cheeks. "Aw, damn. I thought I killed him," he clucked disappointedly. He squinted at the elf carefully, considering his options. He could tie him up and interrogate him, assuming he would talk. Then again, they could always kill him—perhaps even just leave him there—but either of those options was risky at best.

There was a sound from the blond elf that caught their attention. He was awake, emitting a pained groan. "Mmm…oh, what? I…oh," he grunted, squinting wearily at his captors. It was an effort in vain; no matter how much he peered, they remained figureless blobs. He groaned again. "I rather thought I would wake up dead…or not wake up at all, as the case may be… But, I see you haven't killed me yet."

"That could be easily rectified," Cousland warned him, slightly waving around his sword for emphasis.

"Of that I have no doubt. You are most skilled," Zevran agreed. "If you haven't killed me, however, you must have kept me alive for _some_ purpose, yes?"

"You seem awfully glib for a prisoner," Cousland mused.

The strange elf let out an unexpected chuckle. "It is my way, or so I am told," he replied with a smirk. Cousland recognized the sound of Leliana giggling behind him, and glared accusingly at their captive. He didn't like him already. "Let's see then… I assume you kept me alive to ask me some questions, yes? If so, let me save you some time and get right to the point."

"Please do," Cousland said curtly, jealous irritation clear in his voice.

The elf only offered a wide smile in response to his unexplained anger. "My name is Zevran—Zev to my friends. I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens…which I have failed at, sadly," he explained.

"I'm rather happy you failed," Cousland chirped disdainfully.

"So would I be, in your shoes. For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career," he pointed out.

Cousland didn't miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Too bad for you, then," he retorted with equal derision.

The elf sighed. "Yes, it's true. Too bad for me," he agreed halfheartedly, growing bored with their banter.

Sensing a bit of impatience from Alistair, Cousland went straight to the point. "What are the Antivan Crows?" he questioned finally.

Leliana beamed at him. "I can tell you that," she volunteered. Cousland turned to address her, smiling almost as brightly as she was. Her expression immediately turned serious. "They are an order of assassins out of Antiva; very powerful, and renowned for _always_ getting the job done, so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

Zevran's voice called their attention back towards him. "Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather…infamous," he commented, smiling proudly at his own words.

As always, his relaxed attitude never ceased to amaze Cousland. The noble harrumphed. "Not for being good assassins, I see," he noted.

"Oh, _fine_. Is _that _what you Fereldens do—mock your prisoners? Such cruelty," Zevran shot back, frowning in what seemed to be the right way to do Cousland's own failed pout.

Said pout failure backtracked. "Wait, you came all the way from Antiva?" he recalled incredulously. "That can't be right...well, unless Alistair's got some dark secret past in Antiva that's come back to get him." Alistair rolled his eyes at Cousland, but otherwise said nothing.

"Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see," Zevran corrected, adding in a bit of a smug smirk.

Despite the assassin's reassurance, Cousland couldn't help but feel that whoever had hired these 'Crows' was someone important. "Who hired you to kill us?" he prodded.

Zevran paused to squint at the sky in some strange hope that the name would eventually pop out at him. "…A rather taciturn fellow in the capital. Loghain, I think his name was…yes, that's it," he decided after a moment.

Alistair and Cousland exchanged knowing glances. "Does that mean you're loyal to him?" the former questioned.

The elf shook his head. "I have no idea what his issues are with you. The usual, I imagine; you threaten his power, yes?" he asked back.

"…Do we?" Cousland muttered to Alistair, who narrowed his eyes at him and shoved him in the shoulder in response. "Ouch, okay, fine! Stupid question."

Zevran chuckled softly at the Wardens and received a warning glare from Cousland. He hid his amusement by continuing. "Beyond that, no, I am not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service," he answered.

Cousland crossed his arms. "And now that you've failed that service?" he nudged.

This time, when Zevran chuckled, it was completely expected. "Oh, well, that's between Loghain and the Crows, and between the Crows and myself," he stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

"And between you and me?" Cousland inquired.

Something about his next smile seemed more tentative, as if he were truly realizing the seriousness of his position. "Isn't that what we're establishing now?" he chuckled nervously, eyes suddenly attracted to the blade in his hand.

He ignored the question. "When were you to see him next?" he continued the interrogation.

Eyes lingering on the sharpness of his blade, Zevran replied distractedly, "I wasn't; if I had succeeded, I would have returned home, and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results…if he didn't already know." He willed his eyes to return to Cousland's. "If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain, then."

Cousland nodded slowly, understanding. "Right, so you're not…" He stopped. "Wait, _if_ you had failed?"

Zevran couldn't suppress the toothy grin on his face. "What can I say, ah? I am an eternal optimist," he admitted. "Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don't they?" He laughed, more loudly than he had previously laughed, and it died as quickly as it began when he realized the blank stare Cousland was giving him. "…no, I don't suppose you'd find that funny, would you…"

Cousland did let out a small chuckle, despite himself. Zevran grinned at him. Sobering, he quickly covered it up with the next question. "How much were you paid?" he went on.

The look he got from Zevran made him feel as if he were an idiot. "_I_ wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely, or so I understand," he explained anyway. He shifted the position of his arms, leaning his head against his hand thoughtfully. "Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it… Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest."

Albeit wary of his sudden openness, Cousland couldn't help but become curious because of it. "Then why are _you_ one?" he inquired.

"Well," Zevran sighed tiredly, "aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't given much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe… But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well-supplied—wine, women, _men_, whatever you happen to fancy." Cousland opted to ignore that last part. "Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you are considering joining, I'd really think twice about it."

Cousland raised an eyebrow at him. "Err, thanks. I'll take that under advisement," he said.

"You seem like a bright lad. I'm sure you've other options," Zevran assured him, voice becoming wistful.

His sudden solemnity caught the noble off guard. He furrowed his brows at this strange man, becoming confused by his 'sincerity'. "Why are you telling me all this?" he questioned, his puzzlement becoming apparent.

A dubious laugh. "Why not!" he exclaimed. "I wasn't paid for_ silence_. Not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

The man remained an enigma to him. "Were you paid to talk my ear off, then?" Cousland snapped, annoyed by the lack of a clear answer.

"Consider it something I'm throwing in for free," Zevran replied with a sardonic grin. "As it is, if you're done with the interrogation, I have a proposal for you, if you're of a mind."

Cousland hesitated, features hardening with pure contemplation. He looked over his shoulder towards Alistair, seeking approval. He just mouthed out a mute 'I don't know', shrugging helplessly. Finally, he sighed and returned his attention towards the assassin. "I'm listening. Make it quick," he conceded.

Beaming, Zevran cleared his throat. He began, "Well, here's the thing: I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will." He stopped, waiting for the Wardens to react. When they didn't, he went on. "Thing is, I like living. And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause, so… Let me serve you, instead," he offered.

"Wait, what?" Cousland said, incredulous. "You're kidding… You just finished trying to kill us, and now you want to join us?" The elf remained placid. Cousland sighed. "I take it this sort of thing happens to you a lot?"

Zevran shrugged. "More or less. There's usually less clothing involved," he responded frankly.

The noble disregarded the reply with a disbelieving snort. "Right, so even if I _was_ considering this ridiculous offer," Cousland speculated, "could I expect the same amount of loyalty from you?"

He frowned at the noble's clear use of sarcasm. "I happen to be a very loyal person, up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing," he insisted. Cousland couldn't tell if the elf was kidding or not. "That's not a fault, really, is it…? I mean, unless you're the sort who would do the same thing…in which case I don't come very well recommended, I suppose."

"And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?" Cousland questioned, skeptic.

Zevran shifted. "To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child," he said.

"So you've said," Cousland added uninterestedly.

The assassin merely grinned at him. "I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch," he explained. His grin fell as he grew sober again. "Even if I did kill you now, they might just kill me on principle for failing the first time… Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

Finally, it dawned on him that he was completely serious. He sighed. "…You must think I'm royally stupid," he accused, feigning annoyance.

"I think you're royally tough to kill. I'm only_ hoping_ that you're stupid," Zevran answered swiftly.

Silence.

Cousland was ready to let Leliana do her worst on him when Zevran hastily added, "That was a joke. L-let me rephrase that: I'm hoping that you're the sort of fellow that takes a chance every now and again, haha…yes?"

He could sense the panicked desperation in the assassin's voice, and the authenticity of it made him uncertain of the decision he had already made in his head. There wasn't any reason to reject him, other than a possible distrust. But he hadn't spoken a single lie since he awoke, as far as Cousland could tell. In fact, he seemed to be a very honest person, albeit a shameless one. And he was fun to talk to…

"Alright, fine. I accept your offer," Cousland decided with a defeated sigh. Everyone, even Zevran, stared at him in complete shock.

Alistair, whose arms had been crossed for most of the questioning, dropped his arms. "_What_? You're taking the _assassin _with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?" he exclaimed.

Cousland waved him off haphazardly. "Don't worry about it. We could use him," he reassured him.

His words failed to ease the senior Warden's exasperation. "We could apparently use a swift kick in the head too, but you don't see me going around asking for one," he grumbled irreverently.

Unaffected by his defiance, Cousland glanced casually over his shoulder at his friend. "Would you like me to do the honors? Because I will, and you won't see it coming," he retorted easily.

Their argument was cut off by Morrigan. "A fine plan. But I would examine my food and drink more carefully from now on if I were you," she commented.

"That's excellent advice for anyone," Zevran quipped.

"Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan," Leliana greeted with a smile.

"Oh? You are another companion to be, then?" Zevran asked innocently. "I wasn't aware that such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely."

Simultaneously, Cousland and Leliana glared at him. "Or maybe not," the latter added shortly.

Cousland the Crow up, choosing to remain in the background as Zevran spoke, "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation. This, I swear." He bowed his head.

* * *

A/N: So yes, this has been edited for two things: Ellie and flowery grammar. I might write Ellie her own solo fic someday, but for now, this is solely Cousland/Alistair's story.

If I can get my camera to work so I can jot down all the dialogue bits needed, I could start up on the tenth chapter today, starting at Honnleath.

As always, thank you for reading and, to anyone who may still have been holding out for an update...you are highly commendable, surely.


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